As Time Goes By
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: Just a series of short and mostly sweet stories revolving around the lives of the Metacrisis Doctor and Rose Tyler after they're abandoned together in Pete's World. Based on a variety of "what if" situations my brain randomly came up with over the last few weeks. T for various adult themes. I don't own Doctor Who! *SUSPENDED.*
1. First July

Rose sighed. Today had definitely been something of an emotional rollercoaster. When she had awakened, it had been in this overheating, starless universe, to which she had never expected to return. About last on the list of things Rose expected to happen today of all days was what was going on right now: sitting comfortably next to a human version of the Doctor with her mother looking on placidly, as though they hadn't almost died just a short time ago.

An exhausted, sorrowful sort of relief was evident in the Doctor's face, and Rose forgot for a minute that this Doctor was human. For the first time since their passionate moment on the beach, perhaps half an hour ago now, Rose felt guilt prickling at her skin as she thought about the Time Lord who had left in the TARDIS. However much he had encouraged her to accept the Doctor who now sat next to her, and however sweet the human Doctor's whispered words had sounded in her aching ears, it occurred to Rose that she had likely carelessly broken both his hearts by not restraining herself until after the Time Lord she loved had gone.

As a result, a barely tangible yet very distinct feeling of mourning descended upon her, and Rose found after maybe five minutes of staring into space that she had unconsciously decided that in the memory of the Time Lord she had lost, she would take her time with her relationship with his human incarnation. They had all the time in the world, after all.

Suddenly, an unwelcome thought invaded her mind that directly contrasted with her newfound resolution: it had almost been a _dying wish _for Rose to take in the human Doctor, and at this startling revelation—that the Doctor with two hearts was as good as dead to her—Rose felt her eyes well up with fresh tears. Perhaps to stifle her smothering loneliness, or perhaps to rebel against her regretful decision to take things slowly, she not-so-gently pulled the human Doctor's head into her lap (he yelped in surprise), struggling to keep herself from overflowing again.

After his initial surprise, the Doctor lay quite still, staring up at the bus ceiling with an unreadable expression: this was the only time he ever truly looked his age to Rose. She could tell he was not seeing the roof. He was seeing the stars he could no longer visit in person, grieving for the TARDIS he would never see again. Rose clumsily laid her hand on his single heartbeat, accidentally startling him out of his thoughts, and a single tear dropped onto his cheek.

Rose embarrassedly wiped off the drop of saltwater with a muttered apology; the Doctor's only response was first to brush her cheek tenderly, and then—to her astonishment—to allow himself to cry as well. For the people and things they had both lost, for the stars, for the lives they had taken, for a future they had now prevented, and—most of all—sheer, delayed relief that they were alive, and alive together.

Hopefully, forever.

**((Darker than the rest, I believe, so I'm doing another chapter without any waiting at all, just to show a bit more of what this is about…))**


	2. First August

Rose's dad in this world might have had an outdoor porch, and it might have been an unseasonably warm (read: nice) summer evening for London, but Rose was absolutely miserable. Mosquitos were rampant; the Doctor seemed to have some magical way of keeping them off of _him, _but he seemingly couldn't negotiate with them not to bite Rose. All of them seemed to gravitate towards her, and more specifically, her back.

"It's because you're so delicious," laughed Rose's mother, raising a glass of wine as though toasting her. She winked at the Doctor as she said it, giving him a distinctly unnerved expression as he blushed slightly. Rose couldn't help but smile at him.

Trying in vain to reach the numerous mosquito bites on her back, Rose was vaguely pleased when the Doctor rose from his seat and gallantly instructed her to turn around so he could get them for her. She even felt her staunch veil of perpetual depression (worn since the disappearance of the Time Lord incarnation of the man she loved) slipping a little from her face as the Doctor's rhythmic, gentle scratches soothed her bites, but quickly snatched it back again.

He was_ very_ good at this. Rose made a mental note to ask him how many centuries of practice he'd had, then reflected that maybe she didn't really want to know. She'd probably just get jealous of all his previous romantic encounters, of which she was sure he'd had plenty.

As the Doctor stopped, Rose let out a contented sigh. Maybe it was worth getting a _thousand_ bug bites, if it meant the Doctor would help her out like that.

**((Okay, this is a bit fluffier, I think. Anyway… yeah. Probably gonna update daily or something. Don't have a schedule worked out yet.))**


	3. First September

"What are you doing up?" mumbled Rose, yawning as she swayed a little, standing in the doorway. It was one o'clock in the morning, and she had gone to bed about an hour ago, only to be awakened by a knock at the door.

The Doctor stood before her, not even in his pajamas yet, and Rose realized he was holding an empty mug and practically shaking with energy. What was he doing, drinking coffee at this hour? She snatched it away from him as quickly as she could under her circumstances (not very) and glared.

"What, I can't go for a walk and see you? Don't you want me around anymore? I thought I thanked you for letting me make some coffee this morning and you said any time—isn't one o'clock a time?" He wandered into her room, babbling, and she sighed, shutting the door behind her and wishing she at least looked a little more presentable. Her idea of pajamas in early autumn was too-small shorts and an overlarge t-shirt (it wasn't yet cool enough for anything more). Her outfit wouldn't have made her uncomfortable if the Doctor was similarly attired, but instead, he was wearing his traditional suit. It made her feel like the odd one out at a formal party.

"Yes, Doctor, but—"

"And coffee is _good_, d'you see? I didn't know I would like it. I've never liked coffee before in my life! Well, not _this_ life, but that's really not the point. The point is, coffee is great. Almost as great as bananas." He sat down on her bed and bounced a little in place, eyes even wider than usual—to the point where he practically unnerved Rose. "Not quite, though. You can't bring coffee to a party. No one's impressed if you do that! Bananas are better for parties. What do you think?" He got up again and began pacing excitedly; Rose set down the mug gingerly on her bedside table, as though it would explode if mishandled.

"I think—" she began, cautiously, but was again cut off by the wired Doctor.

"So you see, I was lying in bed alone and awake, and I thought to myself, 'Self, I'm not going to be able to sleep anyway!' And then I went downstairs and _tried _to make myself some coffee, but I think I might have made it a bit too strong, and—"

"Doctor!" bellowed Rose, and the unruly object of her love fell silent for once with a startled expression. "That's better," she continued, exasperated, but couldn't restrain a small smile as the Doctor positively beamed at her. "You need to _calm down_," she added slowly. "Here, lie down." She patted the bed, and the Doctor lay down ramrod-straight, staring up at Rose eagerly, as though she would give him a treat for obeying.

"Now, close your eyes."

The Doctor's eyes snapped shut so fast Rose could barely see the movement, and she sighed. This was going to take some doing.

"Now, imagine you're hiding from… I don't know, a Dalek, and you can't make a single noise through voice _or _movement, else you'll be found and—and _exterminated._" The memory of the Daleks seemed sufficient to keep the Doctor terrified into submission, a fact for which Rose felt guilty—but not enough to take it back. He had awakened her in the middle of the night, after all, a fact for which she was determined to exact revenge.

After he had remained silent for more than ten minutes, probably out of fright that the Dalek would get him if he moved or spoke at all, Rose softly began singing a soft, husky song, wincing at the sound of her own off-key voice but getting more and more confident as the Doctor's body visibly relaxed and he let out a sigh as he finally fell asleep (on her thirteenth hoarse lullaby).

_How to combat coffee. Fear and lullabies. _That was all Rose needed.

But now she had a problem: the Doctor was asleep in her bed.

Shrugging, she headed quietly out the door (switching off the light on her way) and investigated the guest room next door that the Doctor practically called his own. It was a complete mess, with various mathematical equations written on the walls (_Dad's going to kill him_) and clothes strewn everywhere.

The bed was messy, but it was still a bed—even a platform of nails would be comfortable at this point—and Rose was too tired to set much store by the way the room looked, so she sank into the Doctor's bed exhaustedly, rearranging the haphazard covers in a somewhat comfortable way and thinking vaguely that she was ready to sleep for half a century.

**((Doctor/coffee. Best pairing.))**


	4. First October

"You look lovely," beamed the Doctor as Rose descended the stairs, feeling distinctly uncomfortable in her too-revealing gypsy costume. It was Halloween evening, and as Rose's dad was one of the world's most successful businessmen (a fact to which Rose was still having a bit of trouble adjusting), she was forced to attend the party he threw at Halloween every year.

Still, it was better than last time. Last time, she hadn't even dressed up, having had a few more important issues to worry about, such as finding a way back to the Doctor. This time, the Doctor was here, and not only that, but he was the one without a costume—and, more importantly, he had already made her smile and the party had barely started.

"I'd say the same of you, but…" She gave him an appraising glance, and the Doctor raised his eyebrows. "But you're not wearing anything. A costume!" amended Rose hastily as she noticed the Doctor's eyes sparkle a little with suppressed innuendo, no doubt part of what he had absorbed from Donna.

"Take it easy!" he smiled, offering his arm, which Rose took (blushing furiously). "The night's still young. Could still happen. Well, could still happen if I drink everything that's offered me, or if I decide my costume is the Statue of David—or both." He and Rose wandered lazily into the front room, where Rose glanced around and found not one single person she knew. Her dad might have been well-connected, but_ she_ certainly wasn't.

"You don't look happy," observed the Doctor, staring at her in that intent way that was almost unnerving. Like he was looking right through her, seeing everything she was feeling. "Anything wrong?"

"Not really," shrugged Rose after a pause. "Just… bored. There's never anything to _do _at these parties." After a moment's thought, she smiled a little. "I remember when I was just a kid, me and Mickey, we'd go out and trick-or-treat all night. That was the life. Candy and chocolate all night… But then Mum said I was too old, so she didn't buy me a costume." She sighed, still annoyed that she had been cut off at only sixteen.

When Rose heard no response, she glanced up to find that the Doctor was getting a little secret smile on his face. She knew that look. It was the look that came over him when he got a 'brilliant' idea that invariably almost got both of them killed.

"What?" he asked innocently, when he saw her looking.

"You know bloody well what," laughed Rose. "Come on, out with it. What are you thinking about?"

"You're a gypsy, and I'm the Doctor. I think we can make this work. Come on!" He grabbed her hand and ran right out the door, almost overturning a waitress, and Rose followed, heart pounding happily. She had missed this more than she knew. Of course, she had no idea where they were going or what they were doing, but Rose had definitely missed running around like the crazy person she was (when she was with the Doctor, at least).

"Where are we off to?" she panted, when she reached the end of the road, and realized what he was doing a split second before he said it. A balloon of happiness swelled within her that Rose felt could withstand anything, and she remembered why she loved him so much as he exclaimed,

"I think we can hit a few houses before we're missed. Allons-y!"

**((One of the more pointless ones, but y'know, the Doctor and Rose trick-or-treating is too good to miss…))**


	5. First November

Rose was just ascending the stairs after a satisfying midnight snack when she heard what sounded like… crying, coming from the Doctor's room. Instantly on red alert—_whatever makes the Doctor cry can't be good, and actually might kill us all—_she knocked on the door cautiously, biting her lip with concern.

Almost a full minute passed before the Doctor answered the door, and Rose anxiously examined him. He was hiding his eyes with one trembling hand, but a sob wracked his entire body as she looked at him, and she could see the tear streaks on his lower cheeks.

"Oh, Doctor," she murmured worriedly, and was promptly cut off as the Doctor launched himself at her and clutched her to him so fiercely and suddenly that Rose felt all the air leave her lungs. When he finally let her go, she gasped and rubbed her ribs achingly, but couldn't have been angry if she tried.

"What's wrong?" Rose asked, when she had gotten her breath back, and took his hand gently, squeezing it. "You're all right. I promise." She kissed his forehead distractedly, wishing he would at least say _something. _Even as she wrapped her arms around his middle, she felt his breathing grow a bit more steady, and he took his hands away from his eyes.

"I'm—so unused to—these human—emotions," sniffled the Doctor, speaking almost incoherently through his wall of tears. "Just—dreaming about—losing—" A tear fell onto Rose's shoulder, but she ignored it, staring up at the Doctor. "You," he finished. "Canary Wharf—"

"Shhh," soothed Rose. "That all happened a long time ago. I'm here now, with you, and you're _not _going to lose me again."

"But—I wasn't—" The Doctor gave a great, shuddering gasp before continuing, "Me. I was—the Time Lord—never saw you again—gone a second time—" A fresh wave of tears made their appearance, and Rose winced as he coughed, almost literally choking on his sadness. "Had to watch you kiss me," he finished, looking up with red eyes still overflowing with very human tears.

"Come here," Rose whispered. "Come on," she added more firmly, when the Doctor didn't budge, and he moved only when she took him by the hand, drew him out of his bedroom, and shut the door. After she entered her own bedroom, she led him to her bed without further ado.

"No, nononono," said the Doctor, shaking his head frantically, eyes almost wild. "Not that. Not now. The guilt—would kill m—"

"Look, Doctor, I don't know what you're talking about," lied Rose, exasperated, "but you're exhausted and all wound up, and maybe sleeping next to me will calm you down. You'll be close to me all night, so you can't have nightmares about losing me without waking up and feeling me right there beside you, got it?" Rose yawned, unable to disguise her fatigue. If he needed her to stay awake, she would, but only as a last resort. She really needed her sleep.

The Doctor, looking somewhat sheepish due to his misunderstanding, lay down as far away from her as possible, staring at the ceiling with eyes still bleary from crying. Rose comfortingly laid her hand on his heart, a motion which between them had come to calm them both, and shut her eyes as he put his hand shakily on top of hers.

_It's been a long night, and it's not over yet…_

**((I imagine the guilt the Doctor would feel would be crushing at times…))**


	6. First December

"So, Doctor, did you not have Christmas on Gallifrey or…?"

The Doctor turned to her and chuckled as the credits of _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer _played on the widescreen television (situated on the wall opposite Rose's bed). "Rose, you know what people say about blondes? Well, maybe you don't. But they say that blondes are stupid, and while I'm _positive_ you're not stupid—wouldn't love you if you were—you can be painfully oblivious sometimes. Well, sometimes I can too, and I've only been blonde once, but—"

"Doctor," interrupted Rose, by way of reminding him of the point.

"Right. Yes." The Doctor suddenly sounded matter-of-fact, looking seriously into Rose's eyes. "No, we didn't, because—Rose, I don't know if you've ever noticed this—but _Christ_mas…" He waited as Rose finally understood

"Oh!" exclaimed Rose, embarrassed, and leaned over onto the Doctor's shoulder as they both chortled. "Right, well, I guess I shouldn't have got you the technology for building your new sonic screwdriver for Christmas, then, _since_ it's not part of your culture—" Rose teased.

"No, no, that was fine!" The Doctor shoved Rose playfully, nevertheless almost pushing her off the bed, and caught her just before she fell, prompting something of a surprised _eek_. They stared at one another, startled, as Rose registered the fact that his chest was maybe an inch away from hers. As he swept her back up on the bed wordlessly, the door opened and startled them both.

"What the blazes is going on here?" demanded Rose's dad, staring around the room as though expecting to see it in shambles, instead greeted only by the sight of chocolate wrappers, the _Rudolph _DVD menu screen, and Rose and the Doctor sitting on the bed together, fully dressed in pajamas and with popcorn in a bowl before them.

As the Doctor and Rose exchanged a glance, they burst into uncontrollable laughter, and even Pete Tyler smiled a little.

"Have fun, then," he shrugged. "But try to keep it down."

"I haven't gotten told off like that in years!" giggled Rose, poking the Doctor's side; he recoiled with a muffled yelp, and Rose (realizing his weakness at last) tickled him mercilessly until he gasped, eyes streaming, for her to stop.

"All right, all right!" Rose let him catch his breath. "So what holidays _did _you have on Gallifrey, then? We can celebrate them here, too." She grinned at him; in the light and joy of tonight, she hardly found it possible that just a few months before, her life had been so complicated and melancholy.

"A festival for the first day of each season!" declared the Doctor happily. "And the new year began in the spring," he added, as an afterthought. "Like sensible species. You humans—most of _you _celebrate the new year in the dead of winter, when nothing changes at all! Spring is the time of life, and hope, and happiness."

"I've got news for you," snickered Rose. "You're a human, too."

The Doctor responded sniffily that he was a _hybrid_, and Rose sighed.

"So, tell us more about this… winter festival."

"Nothing much to say. We didn't give gifts, particularly. Bit of a stingy race, Time Lords. But we did get a speech from the Lord President, and each family had a feast." He paused thoughtfully, an air of solemnity entering his speech as he added, "Gallifrey had to have fallen in this universe as well, though…"

Rose, having no idea what to say to this, put her arm around his shoulder.

"Anyway!" exclaimed the Doctor, making her jump and retract her arm; his voice was directly in her ear. "The feast was the high point of the day. We wouldn't eat all day just so we could stuff our faces with all the good food at night. Oh, Rose, I wish you could have been there," he sighed, smiling.

"I wish I could have, too," agreed Rose. "It sounds great!"

"It was! And then, after dinner, we would sing. Together."

"Sing me a Time Lord song," commanded Rose.

"I don't sing." The Doctor looked positively alarmed at the thought.

"You do if I say you do." Rose smiled at him and batted her eyelashes in an overexaggerated way. "Oh, come on," she laughed, when the Doctor remained stony-faced, and he cracked a smile and leaned back on his elbows.

"Oh, all right," he mused. "Let me think." An alarmed look crossed his face after a few moments of contemplation. "I don't remember." There was something rushed in the way he said it, though, and Rose grinned.

"Liar."

"I haven't been home in two hundred years," sighed the Doctor, a half-wistful, half-annoyed note in his voice. "I just can't remember things like that. There were always more important things to me than music. I would just listen, anyway, never participate—my voice was rubbish. Still is."

"Won't know unless I hear it."

"Can't remember any songs to sing, and I'm certainly not going to sing anything from any of the videos we've seen today," he added, as Rose opened her mouth to suggest it; she shut it again, somewhat disappointed. "Fine. I think I remember a part of one song."

"Sing!" exclaimed Rose, sitting cross-legged and watching him expectantly.

"_My love is so like a star / Shines bright even from afar / Love of mine, come to me / Can you see, can you see / My hearts no longer go on running free_." His voice wasn't bad, but it was very low, so Rose had to lean in to hear it. He shook his head. "Don't know the rest of it," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. "Really—"

"I know you do," responded Rose, taking his hand. "Come on, don't be shy!" She took both his hands bracingly, and he relented again.

"_My love is like night / Though her skin is smooth and white / Swift, she darts away / Like evening fleeing from day / My bright day._ Now really!" he added, as Rose laughed and raised her eyebrows, awaiting the rest. "That's all!"

"No, it's not! You don't just stop a song like that—"

"_My love is so like the moons / Sleeps in till the afternoons,_" sang the Doctor fiercely, cutting her off loudly. "_Love of mine, come to me / Can you see, can you see / My hearts no longer go on running free._ I_ swear_, that's it! Now will you stop bothering me!"

"Yes," giggled Rose, leaning up to kiss him on the mouth, something she hadn't done since that day on the beach long ago. As he half-eagerly obliged her when he got over his initial surprise, wrapping her in a warm and welcome embrace as their lips met, she felt the veil of mourning slip finally from her eyes, at last allowing herself to see the man who had always held her so dear.

But Pete Tyler, opening the door to remind them of their promise to keep it down and quickly shutting it again when he saw the (somewhat chaste but startling) scene before him, interrupted them, and the veil—though torn considerably—drifted back into place.

**((Ugh, songfics. I **_**hate **_**songfics. Why did I write this chapter like a songfic?**

**It's "E3 2010 Demo" from Zelda Reorchestrated, FYI, just with lyrics I wrote. Figured it was better than having some popular song as if it were Gallifreyan origin.))**


	7. First January

Stepping out onto the porch at almost midnight, and ready to greet the new year, Rose reflected tipsily that the evening had been a bit of a blur. The party was in full swing inside, and for the first time, Rose hadn't been bored. Maybe that was due to the Doctor's presence, as with Halloween; maybe that was due to the copious amount of alcohol she had ingested; maybe that was due to the fact that the people weren't so uninteresting once she actually talked to them.

Regardless, Rose didn't feel a bit cold as she sat down on a bench, and was less than surprised when the Doctor sat next to her, a respectful… no, _formal_ distance away. Rose looked at him with difficulty; everything was soft and glowing in her eyes, and the Doctor was no exception. In fact, he looked more… _fantastic_ than anything else, and Rose's light laugh turned into a hiccup when he smiled at her.

"Hello, Doctor," she said happily, and swung her legs into his lap without a care in the world. "How's the party?"

"Better if you were there," he responded, far too seriously.

"I'm here!" exclaimed Rose, too loudly, and clapped a hand over her mouth as she hiccupped again. _How do you cure hiccups again…? _She had learned, once, in school, but she was hardly in a fit state to remember.

"Inebriated Rose is a bit different than _my _Rose," sighed the Doctor, not unkindly, and moved her legs off his lap gently. "You should really try to control yourself, or I might not be able to do the same," he added, getting up, but Rose pulled him right back into his seat with far more force than either she or the Doctor was anticipating.

"Sit down!" she giggled. "What do you mean, control… myself?"

"On behalf of Sober Rose, I ask that you_ please_ refrain from flirting with me like this," urged the Doctor, meeting her eyes. "She's not going to appreciate this when she gets back, even if you… and I… do now." He sighed. "I ask that you let her be the one who calls the shots, okay?"

"Shots? Where?" Rose glanced around hopefully.

"Right, okay, bad choice of words. Let Sober Rose be the one who decides what happens when, all right? If you don't, I might not be able to stop you. Not because I'm not capable of it, of course, but… because I'm not sure I'd want to." Rose noticed, transfixed by his facial expressions but not comprehending a single word he said, that he rushed through the last sentence and was now a bit highly colored. "Now, last chance. Leave me till you get over your inevitable hangover."

"Nope!" replied Rose cheerfully, ignoring the Doctor's heavy (yet somehow amused) sigh. "I can't feel my lips," she added irrelevantly, poking them. "Would you…" She hiccupped violently before continuing in a rush, "Make sure they're still there?" She raised her eyebrows up and down suggestively.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows as well (though in a gesture of surprise) before laughing and burying his forehead in a hand, clearly embarrassed. "If you're sure," he murmured, when he surfaced. "If you're absolutely sure. I'll tell Sober Rose you gave me express permission."

"Go on, then, and when you're done with that I can't feel my—" She hiccupped again and, confused as to where in her sentence she left off, spoke the last word. "—either!" The Doctor's eyes widened, and Rose could tell vaguely that he was thinking hard, but couldn't imagine what would be of such importance to him now. Wasn't he having as good a time as her? Didn't he love her enough to do it without second thoughts?

Happily, she leaned against the Doctor's shoulder, and after another moment's careful deliberation, he drew her face up and kissed her tenderly, though he laid his fore- and middle fingers against her temples as he did so. The last thing Rose saw before blacking out was the Doctor's half-amused, half-pensive smile, and wondered in the back of her mind why he had done that…

…But in the morning, tucked up comfortably in her own bed but riddled with headache and humiliation, Rose found that she had never been so grateful.

**((I think it'd be a bit difficult for the Doctor to resist, particularly with Donna's flirtatious nature embedded in him, but gallantry would win…))**


	8. First February

Rose and the Doctor lay on their backs, staring at the constellations that they would never touch again. They had barely spoken all evening after Rose informed the Doctor of what Valentine's Day was ("Oh! Like our spring festival!"); in fact, they found for the most part that they didn't need to. Holding hands in the cold starlight was enough.

"I've never admired the stars from such a distance," breathed the Doctor, as though afraid to shatter the peaceful silence. "Me, I've always been able to visit them up close and personal… never had a need to look at them like this, and so—never done this with _anybody_ else. You're the first, Rose Tyler." He turned his head to smile at her with such honest contentment that Rose felt herself grinning back.

Squeezing his hand, she gazed back up at the stars. It was true: Rose had forgotten how amazing the stars looked from Earth, blinded by her former ability to see them from any distance she liked. Now, twinkling lightyears away, they seemed less wild and more… calm. But still beautiful.

"Shooting star!" she exclaimed quietly, pointing, and the Doctor's eyes followed it as it fell to Earth somewhere over the horizon. "Make a wish."

"What for?" The Doctor glanced at her, confused.

"Shooting stars are lucky," explained Rose disbelievingly. "What, nine hundred years wandering the universe, and you've _never _heard that?"

"No," responded the Doctor. Then, after a pause, "I wish—"

"Don't say it out loud!" hissed Rose, and the Doctor fell silent. _I wish this night will last forever… _She had plans, of course. Big plans. And here was as good a place, and now was as good a time, as anywhere and anywhen.

"Made a wish?"

"…Yeah."

"So have I." Heart pounding, Rose felt around in the dark for the Doctor's tie, seizing it with mischievous suggestiveness. The Doctor sat up quickly, as though she had electrically shocked him, and grasped her wrist gently but firmly, effectively halting her. Something in the way he did it convinced Rose he had no objections, but was merely issuing a warning:

"Are you _absolutely_ su—"

"Yes."

"Did you bring pro—"

"Yes." Rose smiled knowingly. _But we'll get to that bit later. _Pulling his tie and torso forward, Rose kissed the Doctor passionately; the Doctor, after a half-stunned pause, toyed with her jacket's zipper in the starlight. This night, this wonderful, shining, unexpected night, would make everything they had lived through (and everything they ever would) worth it.

Someone with almost nine hundred years' worth of experience and someone with a naturally passionate disposition couldn't go wrong, after all. And, predictably, neither of them were disappointed.

**((Ahahaha, yeah, no comment on this one. What is romance.))**


	9. First March

Rose and Jake laid the Doctor carefully on his bed, frantically sponging at his bleeding head with sodden rags. Even though they had faced countless deadly situations before, it had been long enough that Rose had forgotten what it was like to worry about his life… and this time, he only had one to lose.

More precisely, this time, it had only been a bar fight, but Jake _apparently _hadn't been paying much attention (a fact for which she had slapped him) and hadn't told her how it had started. All she knew was that she was never taking the Doctor to a pub on Saint Patrick's Day again. Too dangerous.

"Jake," she managed, voice shaking with her worry, "what happened?"

"I _told _you," he insisted, hands up. "You wandered off to the bathroom. I went over to order another drink, and when I got back… he had just punched a man! He didn't know how to fight!" He traced a finger along a long cut on his arm thoughtfully. "It's not as though I wasn't harmed, meself," he added in a mutter. "Saving _his_ useless arse took a lot out of me." He proceeded to sit in the corner of the bedroom, leaning his head on his cheek sulkily.

"I'm sorry," sighed Rose eventually, dabbing at the Doctor's numerous cuts and bruises and restraining her urge to yell what she was thinking: _he isn't useless_. The thought crossed her mind to wonder why he had gotten in a fight—an unprecedented occurrence—but she ignored it, telling herself she'd ask that later. Right now, it was more important just to make sure he was all right.

The Doctor stirred and groaned faintly, jerking Rose out of her thoughts; she gasped with relief and knelt next to him, vision practically swimming with relief as he opened one eye and gave her the faintest of smiles.

"Doctor," urged Rose quietly. "What happened? Are you all right?"

"Hell of a right hook—and left hook—and—well, everything, really," croaked the Doctor, and coughed. "I'm okay," he added, and Rose heaved a great sigh of relief. "I _hurt_—but I'm alive—" He tried to sit up, winced, and fell back again.

"What happened?" repeated Rose.

"Some bloke punched me. A lot," he added, as though that cleared anything up.

"Yeah, I got that much." Rose laughed in relief, head feeling light with relief, but at the same time burning with curiosity. "_Why _did he punch you?"

"I dunno—" At a look from Jake, he sighed heavily, grimacing as he amended, "I swung first." Of all the answers Rose had been expecting, that was not the one. _He never, ever gets in fights, and he's never the one to make the first—_

Suddenly, she remembered how confrontational Donna had been, and frowned as she remembered this Doctor's genocide of the Daleks. This Doctor was nowhere near as much of a pacifist as his Time Lord version… so what if he _had _started it? She made a mental note not to leave him when they started drinking in the future.

"I was as surprised—as you," coughed the Doctor. "I've never—really—liked fistfights. Hate them, in fact. But—sometimes—it just can't be hel—"

"Why did you do it?" interrupted Rose ferociously. "You were hurt! I thought you might have been… well… badly wounded enough that…" She trailed off. In retrospect, it had been an irrational fear. No one died from a _bar fight _nowadays.

"He—insulted you," whispered the Doctor, refusing to meet Rose's eyes as he blushed a bit, and Rose frowned a little. There went her plan to shut him out of her bed or some similar punishment, just to teach him not to be reckless in future. Was that the right thing to do anyway, now that she had learnt his motives?

"What did he say?" asked Rose curiously, after a pause.

"He called you—something," the Doctor groaned, closing his eyes. "Don't want to say what. I couldn't—let him do that—and…" He trailed off. "Wake me later," he mumbled, and Rose sighed, shooing Jake out of the room as she took off the Doctor's shirt without further ado, all the while thinking on what she should do. It had been very… _gallant _of him to come to her defense like that, but how could she warn him not to do it again without seeming ungrateful…?

It looked like a couple of his ribs might have been broken, or at least sprained, judging by the discoloration and the fact that he flinched if she touched his ribcage. Rose had always hoped her minimal medical training in Torchwood would never be necessary, but things rarely turned out the way she wanted. She carefully bound a couple cuts, probably from broken glasses, and grimaced in sympathy as he spasmed with pain.

However much Rose enjoyed undressing the Doctor, she had never wanted it to be so that she could clean and dress his wounds…

**((Donna is a bit more… confrontational. Figured if the Doctor gets a few drinks in him and if someone rubs him the wrong way, everyone better watch out, unless they have fists… because the Doctor cannot fight like that to save his life.))**


	10. First April

"So, you don't have Easter either, then. What happens at the spring festival?"

Rose and the Doctor lay in the grass that had seen them reveal their passion for one another a couple months ago, and the Doctor smiled, holding her hand. "It's a bit like your Valentine's Day," he sighed contentedly. "A festival of life, love, and generosity. I never had time to celebrate it, really. I was a bit busy in school. And by that I suppose I mean I was busy failing before I finally—barely—passed…" He grinned ruefully as Rose laughed, more than a little surprised. _But he's so smart!_

"What, no romances? No little behind-the-scenes action? Weren't you always this handsome?" Rose gave a sly smirk. "Come now, Doctor. No secrets."

"Ah, come on! You saw what I was like before I regenerated into… well, me." The Doctor smiled at Rose, a little embarrassed. "It's a bit random, really, whether I'm considered… attractive. This time, I just got lucky." He winked. "But yeah, I had a wife once. Kids. Three of them. Bit of a handful. And grandchildren! Only a few, though."

"Grandchildren? You?" Rose laughed. "Blimey, I'm dating an old codger."

"I like to think I look all right for my age!"

Rose laughed. Of course he did, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

They lay in agreeable silence for a few more minutes before she ventured another question: "So, you've regenerated… how many times, now?"

"Nine," he said promptly. "This is my tenth incarnation. Well, sort of…"

"And in these, what, ten lives, how many girls have fallen for you, exactly?"

"Ten. Not counting you."

"One for each life, then." Rose giggled. "Nice and even."

"No," he murmured. "Not one for each life. One in my first; two in my fourth; one in my eighth…" He trailed off, an alarmed look in his eyes as he realized what he would have to say. Rose did the math mentally.

"Four in your _tenth_!" exclaimed Rose, springing up. "But…"

"Relax," sighed the Doctor after a suspenseful pause, looking earnestly into her eyes. "You asked how many girls had fallen for me, not how many girls I'd fallen for." Rose understood and let her gaze drop, half-ashamed, half-hurt. It was a long time before she mustered up the courage to ask the next logical question. After all, Rose wasn't totally sure she wanted to know, and there was a warning in the Doctor's eyes.

"So… how—"

"Seven. Again, not including you."

"And the distribution of those would be…?" Rose raised an eyebrow.

"One in my first, two in my fourth, one in my eighth… and—"

"_Three in your tenth_!" exclaimed Rose furiously. "What, was it out-of-sight, out-of-mind with me, or what? I just—I never—" She was cut off by a deep, silent sadness in the Doctor's eyes and finished brokenly, "I'm sorry. Please explain."

"You were always the first one in my hearts," he said softly, so that Rose had to lean in to hear. "The first time, it was—Madame de Pompadour. Reinette. The girl in the fireplace."

"Yeah, I kind of got that one," realized Rose, remembering bitterly. "Right. The one you apparently loved enough, despite only just having met her, for you to _abandon us in space _for five and a half whole hours of thinking you would never come back. I saw you put the letters in that trunk…"

"One of them, I wasn't myself," continued the Doctor, ignoring everything she had just said, much to Rose's annoyance. "Literally, I wasn't me. I was trapped in the form of a human, but without any of my memories, so the human me—John Smith—fell in love with Joan Redfern, a nurse in the early twentieth century…" Something told her there was more to that, like maybe he remembered her but didn't know he loved her, but she decided not to torture herself more by asking.

"I suppose _that's_ all right," muttered Rose eventually, "since you didn't remember me. And the third?"

"Astrid Peth," responded the Doctor, staring down at the grassy hillside. "She reminded me of you, and I was… lonely. But she died, saving me and the whole of London from a capsizing spaceship."

"Well, that was very _nice _of her," growled Rose, staring at the early afternoon sky. She glanced halfheartedly at the food beside them, since they were supposedly having a picnic, but she had lost her appetite. But, no matter how irrationally angry she was (_Of course he had other people besides me! This is the same argument I had with Sarah Jane!_) she couldn't flinch away from the Doctor's gentle hand in hers.

"I'm sorry," murmured the Doctor, looking into her eyes intently. "It was you in my head all along, and if you recall, we never really entered into any kind of a formal agree—"

"I know, I know," sighed Rose, interrupting, "but it still… I don't know… it's a bit unexpected." She gave him a half-smile. "In my life, it's been Mickey and you, and really, that's it. I guess I expected it would only have been me for you, too, since I've known you since you regenerated." Rose hesitated. "Are Time Lords polygamists?"

"No!" The Doctor seemed disturbed by the very idea. "Time Lords don't usually marry. Regeneration could leave you either male or female, you know—"

"What!" exclaimed Rose, wondering what it would have been like for her if the Doctor's ninth incarnation had regenerated into a girl. "How is that possible?"

"Regeneration logic," shrugged the Doctor. "_Anyway_, regeneration changes everything about you—usually—and therefore, it's not exactly advisable to connect yourself to someone like that. Might change at any time. Usually, marriages are arranged." He sighed. "Given me a bit of a disdain for the idea, since when I got married, it was because I was forced to. But I suppose, since I'm human, it'll be different now."

"Doctor?" _Is this a proposal…?_

The Doctor shrugged. "Anyway, none of that matters at the moment." He sighed in a way that suggested that yes, all the memories he had just shared meant the world to him. "Let's enjoy the here and now! Easter Sunday on Earth. Perfect day for a picnic. Did I ever tell you what the Crucifixion was like…?"

As Rose settled into another story about the Doctor's travels in time, she wondered somewhat sadly if the Time Lord Doctor would ever find someone else to replace her…

**((The inevitable awkward prior-relationship queries. Poor Rose.))**


	11. First May

"Come on, is it really so hard for you?" demanded Rose.

The Doctor, looking faintly nauseated, was standing in front of the master bedroom door, carrying a tray of breakfast to present to Rose's mother. However, if things kept up the way they were going now, Rose got the feeling he wouldn't ever actually give it to her.

"Yes," said the Doctor exasperatedly. "Why can't _you _do this? She's _your _mother, not mine!" He leaned against the wall, sulking, and Rose gave him a smile she knew was dangerous. "Fine," he added shortly, letting out a long sigh. "As long as I get some sort of compensation later." Rose opened the door for him, bowing him in as sarcastically as she dared.

"Good morning," said the Doctor, trying to smile but ending up grimacing as he approached the bed. Jackie Tyler, sitting up in bed (wearing pink satin pajamas and watching television), eyed him suspiciously, and then sighed as she looked at Rose.

"This was your idea, wasn't it, sweetheart?" She accepted the proffered tray, but her eyes were still on Rose. "Well, thank you, anyway," she added, speaking to no one in particular, and dug in. The Doctor strode out of the room after nodding awkwardly, closely followed by Rose (who gave her mother an apologetic glance) and as they shut the door, Rose rounded on the Doctor.

"I suppose that was worse than dying, then?" she asked, half-amused, half-annoyed. "Really, she's not that bad. It's Mother's Day! Bury the hatchet just this one time, all right? Remember, she saved your life with that thermos of tea, on that Christmas Day!"

The Doctor rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall and refusing to reply.

"Come on." Rose smiled mischievously. "I know one way to get you to be nice to her for once. For the entire day."

"Yeah?" The Doctor regarded her skeptically. "I don't believe you. There's _nothing_ that can make me tolerate her presence all day." His voice, while disbelieving, also held something of a suggestive challenge, and Rose determined to accept it… though perhaps not in the terms in which he was clearly thinking.

"If you're nice to her all day," grinned Rose, "and if you do everything she wants you to do, no matter what it is… I'll give you…" She trailed off, relishing his obvious suspense for a moment before continuing, "the password to Torchwood's technological storage room."

"Really?" exclaimed the Doctor after a short pause, beaming. "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place? I'll go shopping with her! I'll buy her dinner! I'll lift and carry furniture! When will you give me the password?" he added as an afterthought. "Tonight? Tomorrow? Soon, I hope?"

"Tomorrow morning," laughed Rose. "But remember, only if you're very good."

She had no doubts he would be an angel for the sake of that password; he had been begging for it for months now. And Rose knew no one could possibly be as good as the Doctor… when he wanted to be.

**((Some development on the Doctor and Jackie's relationship, or rather, enmity. I imagine she tolerates his presence in her house, but no more than that.))**


	12. First June

"Are you all right?"

The Doctor's door was open, revealing him sitting on his bed, hunched over and staring at nothing. Rose walked in, recognizing the symptoms of stress; she shut the door behind her quietly and sat next to him without a word. Bedtime could wait. Now, her job as a girlfriend was to make sure the Doctor wasn't overworking himself.

Ever since she had given him the codes to the Torchwood technology storage, the Doctor had barely been sleeping. There were dark circles under his eyes as he jerked his head up, startled, at her presence. "Ah, it's okay," he said before she could ask after his well-being, choking on a yawn, and Rose realized after a pause that he hadn't said _I'm_. "Just staying up too late. Working. Yeah. No, there's nothing you can do," he added, as Rose opened her mouth to make the offer. "I'm just working too hard, that's it. Don't worry about me. Just—"

"Doctor," said Rose softly, cutting him off mid-ramble. "You're not well."

"I'm fine!" exclaimed the Doctor, voice cracking, and looked somewhat humiliated a moment later as Rose put her arm around his shoulder. Feeling the knots in his muscles clean through his pajamas, she immediately got an idea and gave a small smile, to which the Doctor looked almost alarmed.

"I know what would relax you," said Rose gently, and began kneading his back muscles carefully. The Doctor barely reacted at first, seemingly determined to ignore the massage for whatever reason, but after a few good squeezes, he curved backwards with an expression akin to a dog whose belly was being scratched. Rose smiled, satisfied, and removed his shirt (with no resistance whatsoever, and even a little help) before continuing. _I was right… This will definitely help._

"So, could you possibly tell me what's wrong?"

"You're good—at this," murmured the Doctor, baring his teeth in contentment with a sharp intake of breath, and paying no attention whatsoever to her question. "How did—you get so—good at this…?"

"I was a part-time massager after I quit high school," explained Rose, smiling as he jumped when she came too close to tickling him for his comfort. "But what's wrong? I'm worried about you… I don't think you've slept for a month."

"Should have gone—full-time," grunted the Doctor, and instead of answering her question, fell silent. Rose rolled her eyes.

"That's beside the point, Doctor—now what's the _matter_?"

"Nothing." Ordinarily, his lies were very easy to see through, but this time, he spoke with a peculiar note of truth in his voice. "Nothing—whatever. I'm told—this is a normal process—to go through when—you're—" He caught himself before he said whatever it was, and was quiet.

"When you're _what_, Doctor?" Rose asked, frustrated. She rubbed his neck, venting her feelings through the massage and intensifying the pressure but, sensing that he was getting particularly flustered upon her reaching this area, recognized the symptoms and reverted to his back, wanting to ask a few more questions before things developed in that direction. "What are you even doing?"

"It's a—surprise—" The Doctor seemed vaguely disappointed that she had left his neck, but pleased all the same as she worked out the clearly swollen muscles in his back. "I'll show you in—a month." A whole year since they had been in the same world. "Now, I promise—I'm fine. _Molto bene_!" He turned slowly, catching her eye and giving her a tired but brilliant smile; Rose, unable to resist any longer (though her curiosity and worry were hardly satisfied), leaned forward to kiss him, welcoming the hands that sought to return her favor._  
_

**((Again, what is romance. But anyway. You'll find out what he's building next chapter, assuming you care!))**


	13. Second July

_Rose,_

_Meet me in the closet downstairs. You know, the big one. Of course you know. It's your house. Never mind. Just… meet me in the closet. I've got something to show you! Well, two things. And something to tell you. But only if you come meet me in the closet as soon as you wake up._

_the Doctor_

Rose sighed faintly. Even when he was _writing_, he rambled. Rolling her eyes, she climbed wearily out of the Doctor's bed and pulled on a nightgown and robe. He can't have gotten up much earlier; it wasn't as though he had gotten much more sleep than her last night.

Descending the stairs, she dodged an encounter with her mother, who undoubtedly had a few things to say about her nighttime activities, and sneaked into the closet. Looking around for the Doctor amid the racks of coats and dresses and shoes, she squealed as someone grabbed her arm. The Doctor stepped dapperly out of the forest of clothing and beamed at her with such absolute happiness that Rose felt herself smiling back, albeit confusedly.

"What are we going to do in _here_?" she whispered, looking around. "Isn't the closet in my room good enough for a secret meeting?"

"Not at all!" exclaimed the Doctor excitedly, sonicking the wall and grinning as it rippled, displaying a door. "_That _closet doesn't have a secret room. Well, not exactly a room. Well, not a room at all. But still! Would you look at that?" He waved his hand at the door proudly; Rose was still wrapping her head around what had just happened. _A secret room? In Dad's house?_

"…Does anyone know about this?"

"Not a soul!" He grinned. "Just you and me and these clothes, but I don't think you'll tell anyone. Them, on the other hand—" He glared at the coats suspiciously. "You can never trust jackets. I learned that the hard way."

"Have you been drinking, sir?" Rose raised an eyebrow, though unable to hide her amusement.

"Not yet, but I might later depending on what your answer is. Tell me what you think!" he added, pointing to the door, before Rose could ask what the question was that she would answer. "Go on, have a look."

Rose opened the door, glancing at the Doctor with unmasked skepticism just in case it was some sort of an elaborate joke, and her eyes widened as she saw what the interior looked like. She backed up involuntarily, staring at the inside, until she hit the closet door. So this is what he had been doing, stealing supplies and technology from Torchwood… but how had he even done it? Didn't these take more than a century to mature?

"Brilliant," she said, softly, once she had found her voice. "Absolutely _brilliant_."

"Fully functional!" asserted the Doctor, patting the door as though he was its father. "Ready to go when you are," he added, stepping inside. Rose smiled slowly, still under the impression that she was dreaming, and followed.

_Still bigger on the inside. _But much, much tidier, likely due to Donna's influence on the Doctor's aesthetics. And it wasn't in the form of a police box this time, but rather an entire room, a fact about which Rose wasn't sure how she felt. _Must have repaired the chameleon circuit…_

Glancing down after she had investigated every corner, Rose found the Doctor on one knee, holding up a small, flat, unusually ornate silver key on a long, fine chain that glittered in the time rotor's bright blue light. For a moment, she was nonplussed, but quickly realized what was going on and gasped with shock and happiness as he spoke.

"Rose Tyler," murmured the Doctor, eyes full of the stars they could see again. "Will you be my companion, now and forever?"

**((I'll give you a hint as to her answer: it's not no…**

**Got the idea for this from a deleted scene, which also formed the base of this entire story arc thing.))**


	14. Second August

**((If this seems familiar, it's because it's an alternate version of **_**Eye of the Beholder.**_**))**

Rose shrieked as the TARDIAS plummeted through empty space, wondering in the small part of her brain not panicking which of the many buttons they had staggered against (during a furious kissing session) that had caused the ship to capsize. As the TARDIAS finally slammed into land, Rose fell flat on her back in the middle of the control room, head spinning.

"Sayari," muttered the Doctor, looking distractedly at the miraculously functional location screen. If Rose hadn't been winded, she would have demanded that he pay some attention to the well-being of his newly made fiancée, but the air stubbornly refused to enter her lungs even as her future husband peeked nervously out the doors.

After Rose had regained a little breath, much to her relief, she found that the Doctor was offering her a gentle hand up, and he pulled her to her feet. Together, bracing one another, they stepped out of the safety of the TARDIAS.

From her various voyages throughout space, Rose had thought she'd seen everything, but these people—though human in most respects—were definitely odd. Some, pale-skinned and narrow-eyed, had fins in front of their ears and gills on their chests; others had ridged horns and ruddy skin. Some had tails a little like lions', with skin so dark it was almost black in the midday sunlight, and a few were tan-skinned with great feathered wings folded on their backs.

Most of the men wore pants or loincloths with no shirts, though a few wore shirts as well, and some even had on turbans or had their faces entirely covered in cloth. The women, Rose noted, were similarly attired, though most wore skirts rather than pants. All clothing was in any shade and pattern imaginable; several people seemed to be practically on fire, while others wore subdued tones of blue—others had no discernible system at all, and picked their style based on how eye-catching it was.

"Hello," greeted one of the women with a smile. She wore a long skirt, brilliantly colored, with no top, though she seemed to be wearing a great deal of body paint to make up for this. "You have traveled far to be with us, have you not?"

"Yes, yes we have," agreed the Doctor, visibly relaxing; Rose noticed that most of the others wore hesitant, shy smiles at their arrival. Then, after taking in the rest of her surroundings, she let out a burst of laughter as she realized where they were and why they were all gathered around.

"We crash-landed in the middle of a dance floor," she giggled, pointing all around them. The fact that they had had the luck to land on a friendly planet was a welcome thought despite their initial humiliation, though, and Rose and the Doctor found themselves smiling in sheer relief.

"Welcome to the Festival of Life," beamed the woman, and, as though the words 'Festival of Life' had triggered something, the festivities abruptly resumed around the currently dysfunctional TARDIAS (which, Rose observed, was in the shape of a police box despite never having been anywhere near 1960). A strange, enticing beat emanated from various percussive instruments, and the women danced freely, occasionally joined by men but more often observed in an awestricken manner.

Rose preferred to watch the land around them, however. From what little she could see beyond the marketplace of sorts surrounding the dance floor, and also judging by the humidity and warmth, this was a tropical planet. A beautiful one, too—not too far away, a cerulean sea rose and fell, and in the opposite direction, a vivid green forest rose like a mountain out of the ground. _I'm honestly surprised they're not weird colors._

"Do you want to go back inside?" murmured the Doctor to Rose, startling her.

"No way!" exclaimed Rose, more emphatically than she thought she would. "I'm fine where I am, thanks. I… kind of want to explore, actually." She spoke the last sentence hesitantly, wondering if he specifically _wanted _her to go back inside. But even the little bit of his personality that had changed never implied things based on questions.

Grinning mischievously, the Doctor ruffled her already untidy hair, an act which provoked Rose's perfected look of _I'm-going-to-kill-you._ The Doctor smiled brilliantly, whispering "Have fun" before kissing her on the cheek tenderly and dashing into the TARDIAS before she could react.

Rose shook her head, turning to go map out the territory. God knew how long it would take to fix that thing, especially since it was made with a patchwork of technologies instead of merely Time Lord. She had a long time to spend, and she was going to spend it well.

Over the course of that day, Rose wandered through the marketplace, trying everything offered her and even bartering using things she had received for free. She was particularly thrilled about receiving three free servings of _yatakapotoka_, a delicious, more condensed, slightly nutty-flavored popcorn of sorts, as a prize for winning a game called _mchezo_, at which she was quite good. _Mchezo_ involved using anything but hands and feet to get the ball towards the goal—Rose was crowned reigning champion.

The other popular game, _sherehe_, involved archery with bean bags, which Rose tried once and failed so miserably that she vowed never to touch a bow again.

As the day wore on and she played more and more _mchezo_, the tropical heat finally wore her down, and—after trying a juicy, purple carrotlike root called _mizizi_, which tasted slightly bittersweet but did wonders for quenching thirst, Rose began looking around for something cooler to wear.

The kindly old woman working a particularly popular stall selling cloths (to be tied around the waist) smiled, lionlike tail waving at her. "Girl, you look like you are in need of some cool in today's heat. Where do you hail from? You have no horns, nor fins and gills, nor visible wings—and your tail would suffocate in that outfit."

"Right," laughed Rose. "Do you have anything cheap? I don't have money…"

"No charge for friends of the Doctor," grinned the woman, pulling out a fuchsia-and-black patterned cloth. It seemed shorter than most, reaching only to Rose's knees when she tried it on for size, but Rose wasn't about to complain.

"You're sure it's all right?" managed Rose.

"The Doctor is merciful," replied the woman simply, and bowed, sitting in the shade of her tent. Rose thanked the woman hurriedly and darted behind the stall; she stripped a moment later, tying the cloth around her waist and relishing the feel of the breeze on her now-bare skin. _Much better!_

Leaving her clothes behind and feeling refreshed, Rose wandered around the marketplace a few more hours, playing several more games of _mchezo_ and paying with her prizes to have two black snakes painted on her torso. Smiling at her reflection in the water, she walked happily over to the dance floor and watched the dancers for once.

As night fell, however, she grew more and more restless, and less and less content with just watching. The adrenaline from being engaged that morning was nowhere near gone, after all. _Do they allow foreigners to dance, though?_

Eventually, Rose determined to join regardless of foreign custom, and was somewhat surprised to find all the women beaming with happiness at her decision. They taught her a basic dance, whispering that her Doctor would not be able to contain himself at seeing her. _I hope not, _she thought with a grin. _After we were so rudely interrupted in the first place._

And somehow, Rose found that they spread the word: as soon as the Doctor emerged from the TARDIAS, they would start the single dance Rose knew how to do, just to help her along…

By the time Rose saw the Doctor, an hour or so later, she was so absorbed in the dance she didn't even have time to do anything but wave. All she could manage was to keep up, twirling and jumping and clapping and stomping right on time until finally, when she felt that she could dance no longer, the drums changed to the free-dance beat. Dodging the swarm of people rushing to congratulate her for her successful dance, she made her way to the Doctor, whose eyes were wide and staring at nothing.

Kissing his forehead to bring him back, Rose smiled warmly and murmured, "Is the TARDIAS fixed yet?"

It was a long time before he responded, and even then, Rose got the feeling he wasn't entirely there. "No, no, it's not fixed yet. Still needs a few hours' work. But I'm… hungry." The last words were spoken more as a euphemism than anything else, and she felt a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Oh! I'll get you some _yatakapotoka_! You _have _to try it—it's the best thing in the world. I mean, any world." Rose beamed at him, a smile the Doctor readily returned, and dashed off to play more _mchezo _and win more of it, just so he could have a taste. The bedroom was waiting in the TARDIAS, after all, and they did have all night to get there.

A couple hours later, when both had retired to the safety of the TARDIAS, the Doctor muttered something about needing to fix a few more circuits before coming to bed. Rose, though more than a little annoyed—_what, he thinks I can just wait?—_didn't object, preferring to take a shower. It was only the polite thing to do after such a hot, dusty day.

After her shower, and after removing her painted snakes, Rose didn't even bother drying off. _Why should I? _Instead, she settled for retying her cloth and fetching her future husband. He wasn't getting away from her this time.

Leaning against the doorway, Rose smiled seductively as the Doctor's gaze fell on her; he blinked, as though trying to make sure she was really there, before staring. Rose got the feeling he was too shocked to be abashed about it, but the fact that she was getting through to him like that was almost painfully obvious.

Rose bounced laughingly towards her fiancée, she could practically feel the Doctor's pleasurable discomfort intensify. "You look like a deer caught in the headlights," teased Rose, reaching up and trailing a fingernail across the back of his neck, noticing him shudder ever so slightly as she did so. She supposed it wasn't playing fair to take advantage of that particular area, but that was the fastest way to get him where she wanted him. "Come on," she whispered, focusing on his wide eyes (which were not focused on her own). "What's so important out here that you haven't come to bed?"

The Doctor stared at the sonic screwdriver in his hand, plainly trying to formulate a response, but giving up after glancing around the rest of the control room. Swallowing, the Doctor brought his eyes up to hers with a visible effort and responded, voice cracking with strain, "Oh, you know… the usual?"

"Uh huh," sighed Rose disbelievingly, leaning her forehead against his. It only took a few seconds of running her hands seductively through his hair before he kissed her passionately, this time pointedly steering her _away _from the central console. But at this point, Rose wouldn't have cared if he had taken her off a cliff, as long as he gave her their engagement night.

**((If you've read **_**Eye of the Beholder**_**, tell me how this compares! If not, well, you can read it or not, but still—tell me what you think.))**


	15. Second September

**((This is identical to one of my other oneshot stories, **_**Clothes Maketh the Woman**_**, so I'll be posting one more today in addition.))**

Rose groaned as she floated back to consciousness, trying to find out where she was without opening her eyes and breaking the drowsy spell. From what little she could tell, she was lying on a very hard, very cold floor, and the air around her was unnaturally chilly for somewhere found on the ordinarily exceptionally warm planet Shkretetire.

"It means desert," the Doctor had said to her jovially as they stepped out of the TARDIAS (the time machine he had built with a few bits of stolen technology from Torchwood, and an equally dishonestly obtained fragment of coral from the original TARDIS). "Its sand is clear like raindrops, and it shimmers in all the colors of the rainbow whenever a sandstorm whips up. But the storms are rare, and extremely dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Rose had laughed. "Aren't all sandstorms dangerous?"

"The sand is very, _very_ sharp, and you'd be torn to shreds if you were unfortunate enough as to be caught in the middle of one. But we're safe from this distance—"

Foggily trying to remember what had knocked them out and how, Rose sat up to find that her clothes had all been removed somehow. Opening her eyes, she half-reluctantly dispelled the drowsiness that had kept her asleep for what felt like days. Rose checked her surroundings carefully, looking for a way out: she sat, wearing absolutely nothing, in a fairly cramped, all-white room with a row of open windows near the ceiling on one side. Through these windows, the sky was a deep shade of cerulean, with the stars just beginning to come out. If she hadn't been so annoyed that she was apparently in jail, she would have thought the sight beautiful.

Feeling vaguely ashamed of herself that it had taken as long as it had for her to remember to check around for her fiancée, Rose's eyes came to rest on the Doctor, who lay just before her. _He _was still mostly dressed, though they had apparently stolen his shoes and socks for some odd reason. Rose savagely thought of what she would do to the people who had taken off her clothing, and hugged her knees to herself a moment later, debating about whether or not she should wake the Doctor.

Eventually, just when she was about to wake him, the Doctor stirred, and Rose let out a half-exasperated, half-relieved sigh, making sure to keep as much of herself covered as possible. She needed him in an informative frame of mind, and more than once before Rose had found that her clothes (or lack thereof) often dictated whether or not whatever he was rambling about was actually intelligible.

"Good morning," smiled the Doctor, apparently noticing nothing odd about Rose's lack of clothes. "Or is that evening?" he added, glancing up at the windows. "I'm sorry," he continued, before Rose could react with annoyance. "I overshot the date just a little. Still breaking her in, you know. It's a festival day today, and on festivals… well, white is a holy color—"

"—so if you're wearing a holy color when you're not supposed to, they do what, take off all the white clothing you've got and confiscate it, and throw you in jail to boot?" Rose rolled her eyes.

"Exactly! The jail sentence is only for the festival's duration, though. We're released tomorrow morning. You caught on rather quickly," added the Doctor, sounding pleased. "How'd you guess?"

Rose shifted a little, uncomfortably, and waited for her oblivious fiancée to notice.

"…Ah," he said eventually, coloring slightly; he looked at her quickly, barely meeting her eyes, and looked away again before Rose could glare. If she hadn't generally been in a less-than-pleased mood, she'd have admired his chaste refusal to look at her without her express permission. However, at the moment, Rose was absolutely furious, and as the TARDIAS was nowhere to be found, her blame settled heavily upon the Doctor as the seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness.

Her anger was amplified, of course, by the fact that the Doctor—wearing no less than three separate layers—was having an unusual lapse in gentlemanly behavior and had not given her a single article of clothing with which to cover herself.

After a couple more unbearable minutes, during which it got no warmer in their tiny cell, Rose raised an eyebrow and took hold of the Doctor's tie none too gently, tugging his entire torso towards her; he let out a surprised yelp. "Now," she murmured, voice deadly soft, as she locked eyes with her fiancée, whose head was currently about level with her folded knees as she accidentally contorted him into a position similar to a bow. The sensation gave her a peculiar and invigorating sense of power over her future husband, and she practically felt like an empress as she proclaimed quietly, "I will need your shirt."

The Doctor's color deepened; Rose released his tie after a few tense, awkward moments and he removed his outer layers so quickly one would have thought they were on fire. Within seconds, he handed Rose his shirt, tie hanging loose around his bare neck and an expression on his face akin to a scolded dog. He was still not looking at her.

"That's better," said Rose, and turned away from him, hurriedly putting on his light blue shirt. It was understandably a little bit tight around the chest and short around the thighs, but fit well overall, and was extremely comfortable.

"Light blue," she added in a mutter. "Evidently not close enough to white, even though your beige tennis shoes were blasphemous."

"Of course it's not close enough to white!" exclaimed the Doctor, throwing on his outer jacket and leaning back on his hands lazily as though he was relaxing on a beach; his eyes were on Rose at last. "But that's beside the point. The point is…" He moistened his lips thoughtfully. "The point is…"

He trailed off, now refusing to look anywhere but her eyes; the intensity in their chocolate depths was startling and plainly unrelated to their conversation. She could practically hear the resolution ring through his head: _I will not look._

Rose thought with a smile that a huge part of why she loved him so much was the amount of absolute respect and devotion the Doctor gave her.

Her smile became a smirk as she added to herself that her love didn't mean she didn't get to tease him about it. If anything, it was even more of an invitation to. Besides, they were stuck in jail for God knew how long (she hoped it was just for the night), and it was about time she had some fun…

"The point?" Just to test the waters, Rose casually unfastened the top button; the Doctor blinked a few times, but didn't move his eyes from hers, though he shifted a bit uncomfortably. Smiling sweetly, she continued, "You know what I think?"

"Mm?"

"I think you'll never look at this shirt the same way again."

"Mm." The Doctor gave her the faintest of smiles, preferring at this point to close his eyes rather than look at her. For whatever reason, he seemed extremely determined to resist her. Rose took that to mean she was doing things right.

She undid another button after a little while and let the collar slide off her shoulder. "Cat got your tongue?" Sticking her own tongue out at him, she leaned on one hand, legs folded to the side, and tugged the shirt down a bit so it served as a minidress of sorts. _I could be a model for men's shirts! …If I wasn't in_ jail_, that is._

The Doctor's eyes flicked open again, which Rose could tell he regretted instantly from the blush on his face (reserved for the times she was really doing a good job getting through to him), and shut them quickly again as though she was brighter than the sun. Grinning at her success, she scooted up beside him and kissed his cheek angelically.

"Do I look so terrible that you won't even open your eyes?" she asked teasingly.

"…Yes," he managed, opening one eye halfway and shutting it again. Rose couldn't tell if that was a reverse wink or proof of his statement as he continued slyly, "That shirt doesn't suit you at all, come to think of it. Really, it doesn't. Altogether the wrong shape, size, and color."

"And?" Rose readjusted the shirt, relishing the sound of the Doctor physically swallowing his impulses. Her job was to push the boundary, and damn if she wasn't good at it by now.

"If I'm any kind of fashion advisor, and believe me, I am, you should really take that off," finished the Doctor, smirking a little as he rose from the ground. "But I'm only making a suggestion," he continued, taking off his outer jacket (his back to her) as Rose hastily removed the offending article of clothing. "Really, that's all it is… just a sugge… stion…" He blinked as he turned around.

Raising her eyebrows, Rose half-wondered—judging from the wide-eyed, shocked expression on his face—if the Doctor would refuse to engage, but he grinned (almost self-consciously) and spread his coat out on the floor.

**((Bit more flirtatious than I'm used to writing. Hope I did all right.))**


	16. Second October

"Rose, I've just had an idea. A brilliant idea! Like _all _my ideas. I know where we're going next!" He sounded jubilant, ecstatic, more like a child than a nine-century-old man. But Rose didn't care where they were going next: she was too focused on the fact that her fiancée had just barged in on her while she was busy showering.

Poking her head furiously out from behind the curtains, she glowered at the Doctor, whose eyes widened as he backed up. She knew she wouldn't have been as annoyed if her fiancée hadn't always found something more 'interesting' or 'important' to do than come to bed while she was still awake. As a result, Rose found herself with far more energy than she knew what to do with, and a great deal of resentment at the Doctor's audacity. _Walking in on me while I'm taking a shower after refusing to cooperate for an entire week!_

But she knew what to do. She shoved aside the shower curtain, leaning against the tiled wall with the hot water still running, and looked the Doctor—standing only a short distance away—dead in the eye. However, Rose couldn't maintain her stony disposition, and ended up smiling at him invitingly.

"We've trekked across all kinds of planets over the last week," she sighed. "All dusty or mossy or sandy, and muddy as well. And when was the last time you took a shower?" She raised her eyebrows. If he didn't get the message, she swore (though still smiling) she was going to take his sonic screwdriver and put it somewhere unpleasant.

But the Doctor shook his head, smiling ever so slightly, and Rose's smile dropped off her face and shattered on the tub floor—not only in rising anger, but in astonishment: this was the first time he had been able to resist her when she wasn't wearing anything.

Shutting off the water, annoyed, Rose crossed her arms. "Well, wherever_ you're_ going, I'm not coming unless—" Rose was taken by surprise as the Doctor approached, eyes affectionate, and stepped into the tub with her, pressing her gently against the wall as he kissed her tenderly; Rose, meanwhile, relaxed into it, relieved.

_Finally._

**((Okay, I promise the next chapter won't have **_**quite**_** as much romance. These last chapters have been a bit… full, haven't they.))**


	17. Second November

"Well, that's one way to get rid of the Doctor," muttered Rose to herself, staring at her idiotically beaming fiancée. "Get him drunk." Rolling her eyes, she grasped the Doctor around the chest and hauled him towards the TARDIAS just around the corner, which took about ten minutes despite its close proximity. He certainly wasn't helping; the strength seemed to have gone out of his limbs almost entirely.

Once inside the TARDIAS, Rose sighed heavily, arranging the Doctor on the floor carefully and sitting cross-legged next to him as he giggled faintly, ignoring the thought of rumpling her nineteenth-century dress. The aliens, who called themselves _ráncosodik_, were getting away—and there was no chance of catching up to them, now that they had eliminated the sobriety of the only person capable of giving chase. Pilot the TARDIAS in his condition, and they'd crash. Stay put, and the aliens would escape. It was a lose-lose situation.

It didn't help that the people at the nineteenth-century upper-class party—for which the Doctor had forced her to undergo rigorous voice training daily for a week prior, hence why she was so frustrated at the party's quick end—thought _they_ were responsible for the theft of Lady Lindsey's jewelry. _There goes another time period we can't go to without being hunted. _Frankly, Rose was a bit tired of having everything blamed on the Doctor and, by extension, her. They had been held responsible through almost every time and place for what were apparently huge disasters in the eyes of each world they visited, and sooner or later, Rose was confident they'd have a run-in with the Shadow Proclamation and get arrested for God knew what.

Forcing her mind away from her exasperation, Rose focused instead on how the Doctor was dressed. Other than the fact that he was completely incapacitated and Rose knew he would have one hell of a hangover come morning, he looked perfect. Running a hand through his hair absentmindedly, Rose studied his outfit carefully, for lack of anything else she could do to keep herself from worrying. He had donned his black suit today, unlike the brown pinstriped one he usually wore, and also wore a black bow tie, against which Rose had protested. Bow ties weren't as… _cool_ as what he ordinarily wore, as far as she was concerned. But of course he still looked great.

_Thank God the _ráncosodik _aren't very threatening. _They looked dangerous, like short, red, walking crocodiles, but they had blunt teeth and more blunt claws. However, they _were _technologically advanced (since they were able to manipulate a perception filter) and also savvy to the effects of liquor, even though they themselves didn't seem too susceptible.

_Ráncosodik _themselves were evidently a race of thieves, not murderers, according to the Doctor just before they attended the party—which reassured Rose, but also annoyed her, as without his help or the help of the TARDIAS, they had allowed them to escape with nineteenth-century metals and precious stones. _Let the experts try to explain _that _when they find it on some distant planet far in the future._

Meanwhile, Rose noticed that her fiancée had dropped off to sleep. This was the only time she had ever seen him beaten: alcohol. Donna must have had a predilection for the stuff, since (to her knowledge) the Doctor never had. At least this time he hadn't gotten into a bar fight.

Sighing, Rose smiled faintly at the Doctor's innocent appearance, then kissed him gently, yawning as she half-wondered if this situation was at all similar to that of Sleeping Beauty. She was a beauty in need of some sleep, anyway; she hadn't exactly abstained from the liquor, even if she hadn't had as much. But when the Doctor didn't stir, she just smirked. She'd stay with him anyway.

**((Based on a dream I had! The Doctor was drunk and I… well… kissed him. While he was on the floor. So. Um. Yeah. Hope I did that experience justice. Only thing I excluded was the fact that the TARDIAS was a tent.))**


	18. Second December

**((This is identical to another oneshot: **_**Time Lords Don't Get Sick**_**. I'll be posting a ridiculous amount today—this and the next have already been published, so two new ones for you—February and March—will be forthcoming!))**

Opening her eyes, half-alarmed and half-annoyed as the Doctor shook her shoulder, Rose sat bolt upright and flicked on the light. He _never _woke her up in the middle of the night, and with good reason. She was never exactly in the best of moods when she was awakened before it was light.

"What's going on?" she yawned. "You better have a really good exc—"

"I thik I'b dyig," responded the Doctor thickly, his eyes wide and irrationally worried. "I cad't breathe, add by head feels all hot, add—" He lapsed into coughing, and Rose sighed. Hadn't she warned him about this? Everyone in the house had passed along a cold for almost the entire month, now, and it wasn't as though the Doctor didn't know what germs were. Was it?

"You're_ not_ dying," Rose sighed, trying to be patient. It was still dark out—couldn't have been later than four. "You have what we humans call a _cold. _Just like the one I got over a couple days ago."

"But I cad't _breathe_!" protested the Doctor, childlike in his anxiety. Even though Rose found it hard to be annoyed at him for long, he was definitely pushing it. "What if I'b—"

"Doctor!" barked Rose, silencing him abruptly (almost laughing at the shocked expression on his face) and rolling out of bed. "Stay here," she added in a mutter, wandering over to their bathroom and pouring out some cough medicine a moment later.

When she returned, the Doctor whimpered hoarsely. Rose rolled her eyes and handed him the tiny cup of medicine, which he regarded with some puzzlement. "Don't tell me you don't know what that is," she growled. "This is a _cold_. That is _medicine_. What about this makes you think you're dying?" She yanked the covers over herself irritably, almost spilling the cherry-red syrup onto the sheets.

"I've dever gotted a cold before," he muttered, eyeing the medicine distrustfully. "Tibe Lords dod't get sick." As the Doctor looked up, she saw a rebelliousness in his eyes she had seldom seen before, and not for the first time she wondered how much of Donna's personality he had received. He wasn't quite the same as he had been beforehand, that was for certain… but it was a largely pleasant change. He was a bit more confident, slightly more romantic, and had an even better sense of humor than he had had beforehand. (Even if he _was _a tad more opinionated and argumentative.)

While she was thinking in her hazy, four-o'-clock frame of mind, the Doctor sipped at his syrup and pulled a face. Rose couldn't help but laugh at his innocence a little; it _was_ technically his own fault. She had banished him from the bedroom in the hopes that he wouldn't catch it, but the Doctor had sneaked right back in before she was better, and she didn't have the heart to refuse him.

"This is disgustig!" He marched out of bed and poured the bitter liquid down the drain. "I'd rather dot be able to breathe thad…" He was overtaken by another fit of coughing. "By throat hurts," proclaimed the Doctor feebly, after Rose began to worry that he would choke, and slid back into bed. She half considered reprimanding him, but decided she didn't want to get in an argument when she was already exhausted.

"…Now _I _have to be the doctor," Rose muttered resentfully, getting up again wearily and searching the medicine cabinet for anything that would let them both sleep. Even a sledgehammer she could use to hit him over the head would work, in her book.

No such sledgehammer was available, however, and Rose meandered down to the kitchen, wincing as she heard the Doctor cough again. It was really a horrible cold—just his luck he got all the symptoms at once for his first time ever. But Rose was going to cure him, damn it, even if she had to wander to the petrol station and buy all the medicine in stock.

_ Grape juice. _That would keep the flavor of the syrup hidden, and then maybe he wouldn't whine about it. _Lollipop. _That would coat his throat and give him a bit of relief there, and maybe shut him up too. _Ice pack. _That would keep him from getting too warm. Rose briefly considered making him tea as well, but decided she'd just do that in the morning and tiptoed upstairs, trying not to spill the grape juice on the carpet. Even if her dad was filthy rich—a fact Rose was still getting used to after almost a year—she didn't exactly want to make them clean up after her mess. Traveling with the Doctor had given her a previously unknown sense of self-sufficiency.

Determinedly re-pouring the cough syrup and brandishing it at him again (he looked terrified and scooted back against the headboard), Rose couldn't suppress a laugh, which he returned weakly, still staring apprehensively at the tiny cup.

"How to take cough syrup," she began, knowing from the Doctor's expression that she looked too dangerous for him to argue with at the moment. "Step one—hold your nose."

The Doctor did as instructed, albeit bemused.

"Step two—drink it down. Fast!" she urged, as the Doctor swallowed the red liquid, looking vaguely queasy. "Step three. Drink this!" She thrust the cup of grape juice at him, which he gulped down immediately, looking relieved when he surfaced again. _Can't believe I even have to explain this…_

The Doctor looked dutifully back up at her, meekly awaiting the next set of instructions, and Rose couldn't help but smile. This was an aspect of her partner that never ceased to please her. He practically _worshipped_ her, as her mother had been kind enough to point out on more than one occasion. _Yes, thank you, Mum, we know._

"Put this on your forehead," commanded Rose, handing him the ice pack as she realized her fingers were beginning to hurt from its coldness. After the Doctor obeyed, Rose unwrapped the lollipop and stuck it in his mouth as soon as he opened it to say something.

"What'sh thish for!" he exclaimed through the mouthful of candy.

"Coats a sore throat, and makes it less sore," responded Rose tersely. "Anything _else _I can help with?" she added, not wanting to be reawakened with more needless panic. _You'd think he was nine years old instead of nine centuries._

The Doctor shook his head exhaustedly, closing his eyes and sinking back onto his pillow, lying on top of the covers and practically soaked in sweat. Rose rolled her eyes mentally as she realized she couldn't go to sleep while he was still wakefully suffering, and hauled herself out of bed one more time, fetching a damp washcloth and sticking her hand up his shirt (which was met with a faint protest which quickly changed into eager contentment) to sponge him off a bit.

After a long time of sitting in silence, for which Rose was grateful, she realized the Doctor was asleep. Kissing his forehead, still cool from the recently removed ice pack, Rose turned out the light, half-expecting the Doctor to jump up and insist she stay awake. But his breathing remained slow, deep, rhythmic… and painfully congested.

Rose sighed in empathy, and was almost asleep again before she stirred herself back into half-wakefulness by laughing softly in the pre-sunrise, ambiguous darkness.

_ Nine hundred and seven years of saving planets and fighting monsters, and he's terrified of colds!_

**((Welp. The Doctor's weakness revealed at last.))**


	19. Second January

**((This one's already been published. It's here I describe why it's called the TARDIAS, which I suppose I should have said earlier, but…))**

Rose and the Doctor had been running from this day for what had to have been a year's worth of time in the six months since he had proposed, now that he had built the TARDIAS.

"…TARDIAS?" Rose had asked during the first flight when, in the traditional technological babble the Doctor had been shouting as they flew backwards through the Time Vortex, she had caught the word within one of his practically nonsensical sentences. "Why not just… TARDIS? Like the good old days?" That was going to take some getting used to.

"She's not the TARDIS! She's the TARDIS's _daughter_. Time And Relative Dimension In _Alternate _Space. Since, you know, we don't technically belong here, and then there's the fact that—" The rest of whatever he was about to explain was cut off by the fact that Rose had crash-landed the TARDIAS smack dab in the middle of Shakespearean London, of which he seemed distinctly wary.

Another time, Rose had asked as she helped pilot the TARDIAS back into the Vortex, "So… how exactly did you _make _this? I thought TARDISes were living things, and we haven't exactly been to Gallifrey yet—"

"—which I hope to avoid at all costs," muttered the Doctor. "No way am I going back to that corrupt,_ poisonous_ society unless I have to—particularly since I'm human. Even if it _is_ the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, apart from you, of course." Rose smiled at the compliment, but the Doctor seemed too distracted to notice, continuing, "Ah, how did I grow this? Stole a fragment of TARDIS coral out of the storeroom before I got out! Shatterfried the plasmic shell and modified the dimensional stabilizer to a foldback harmony of 36.3!" He grinned at her, and Rose knew he had missed baffling people with his scientific talk. "In other, saner words… I made it grow in one-fifty-ninth of the time it would ordinarily take to mature. Normally, it takes four hundred and thirteen years for it to be ready for flight. I've been working on it since we got here. Well,_ almost_ since we got here."

Rose laughed aloud as she pulled levers and rotated dials to steer the TARDIAS through the Vortex. "Where are we going next?" she asked after a long, contented pause, and the Doctor grinned at her.

"Home," he responded. "Home… and to the morning of our wedding."

"But—it's unlucky to see the bride before the wedding!" protested Rose, staring at the Doctor, who raised an eyebrow. _He has to have heard of_ that_ before!_

"…Fine. The night before, then."

Their wedding would not be a conventional one, much to the disappointment of Rose's parents. They had wanted a huge affair with all the rich people remotely acquainted with Pete Tyler, but Rose (seeing the Doctor's obvious discomfort at the idea) rejected this plan, instead telling them, "You do what he says, all right?" and hurrying into the TARDIAS for her driving lesson.

Rose got up the day of her wedding with butterflies in her stomach. The Doctor had apparently left her a dress and bodice in the middle of her floor, with a note pinned to it:

_Sorry this is on the floor. I forgot to give it to you before you left, so I had to materialize the TARDIAS into your room and leave it behind, and I couldn't hang it up properly. If you like it, this can be your wedding gown. If not, pick something you like. Even jeans and a t-shirt would be okay; you're beautiful no matter what you're wearing._

_Just don't turn up wearing nothing. That can wait till a bit later._

_Love, The Doctor._

_P.S. See you downstairs; I'm ready when you are._

Smiling, Rose went to take a shower; when she had dried off and cleaned herself up a bit, she tried on the dress. It hardly looked like traditional wedding attire: a strapless, red satin gown, ruffled on the bottom. Trying on the bodice, swirling red and gold and with red half-sleeves (and looking vaguely like something that would have been worn in the nineteenth century), Rose felt much more comfortable. It was actually quite perfect, she realized: flattering but not too revealing, not too impractical, and she could wear it again if she so chose.

"Oh yes," she murmured, having picked up the phrase from her soon-to-be-husband, and Rose wandered back into her bathroom to sit at her vanity and dab some makeup on. She wanted to look drop dead gorgeous, after all. This was her _wedding day_, and if the Doctor could still speak when she got downstairs, she had failed in her mission. After putting on some black low-heeled dress shoes, she opened the door, ready to face her big day at last.

When she descended the stairs, the Doctor was waiting for her at the foot, talking and laughing with Rose's dad (who was wearing a suit). He stopped mid-sentence as he noticed her, turning to look at her with his mouth still open, and the expression on his face was something that could be described as almost _awestruck_. Rose stopped in front of him, adjusted his golden tie, and softly tapped his chin to shut his mouth, smiling happily and taking his arm to lead the stunned Doctor into the living room.

Jackie Tyler, wearing a pink fluffy dress, rushed towards her daughter and beamed. "You look lovely, sweetheart," she gushed, tears in her eyes. "A little bit alien, mind you, but _beautiful _all the same. We've agreed we're going to host a wedding party this evening, though—decided that weeks back—all we had to do was confirm it with the Doctor."

"I was expecting something like that," laughed Rose, glancing up at her somewhat-unnerved fiancée, and Pete Tyler walked in a moment later, leading Rose's three-year-old brother Tony by the tiny hand and sitting him on the couch with a pair of socks to play with.

"Well, shall we get started?" he asked, smiling at his daughter and the Doctor.

"Right! Yes!" exclaimed the Doctor suddenly, startling everyone in the room, and knelt before Rose, gently bringing her down to her knees with him as they had rehearsed a week or so ago. (Rose prayed she could remember all her lines.) Their gazes locked tenderly as the Doctor spoke:

"Future wife, I ask of you three questions."

"Ask," responded Rose tremulously.

"Do you agree to tie our houses together and your heart to mine forevermore?"

"I do." _I have for ages. _The Doctor tied one end of a long, golden ribbon around her wrist, leaving the other end hanging.

"Will you stand by me in all times and places, even if the universe should collapse?"

"I will." The Doctor fastened the end of a second ribbon around her other wrist, this time red.

"And do you swear never to misuse your connection to me nor tarnish my family's name by disgracing your own?"

"I do." The Doctor tied both ends of a black ribbon to her wrists and waited. Rose took a deep breath and tried to remember the ceremony.

"Future husband, I ask of you three questions."

"Ask," said the Doctor in a low, affectionate voice and with a brilliant smile that almost made her lose focus entirely.

"…D-do you agree to tie our houses together and your heart to mine forevermore?"

"I do." Rose's hands shook slightly as she took the other end of the gold ribbon hanging from her right wrist, and tied it to his left.

"Will you stand by me in all times and places… even if the universe should collapse?"

"I will." The solemnity in his voice was distracting, but Rose managed to take her red ribbon and fasten it to his right.

"And do you swear never to misuse your connection to me… nor tarnish my family's name by… er… disgracing your own?"

"I do." Rose took a second black ribbon and bound his wrists together, waiting for whatever happened next. The rehearsals had never gone beyond this point before; was that it?

Pete Tyler came forward with a thin white string and cleared his throat, saying a moment later, "I consent and gladly give my household's ribbon to unite these two halves of a single love." He tied the string to the two black ribbons stretching between each of their wrists.

Jackie Tyler was next to approach, repeating her husband's words uncertainly as she did the same as he with a second white string. Looking down at her hands, Rose saw that the intricate designs of the interweaving ribbons represented marriage on a symbolic level: they were tied to one another now, quite literally.

The Doctor leaned towards her and whispered something in her ear, an impossible, beautiful sound that encompassed the universe. Dying stars, newly formed planets, trillions of life forms—the very essence of time itself was sung hymnlike in its syllables; Rose smiled with a feeling of satisfaction as she heard it, as though her life were now complete.

"That is my true name, Dame Rose Tyler of the Powell Estate," murmured the Doctor, drawing back again. "Remember it well, and cherish its meaning, but use it not." A warning was contained in those words, and Rose knew the dangers. If merely hearing it in a whisper could conjure all those powerful images, who knew what it could do if spoken _aloud_?

"…You may kiss the bride," said Rose's parents together, and Rose saw that both of them were a bit weepy-eyed. Smiling, she leaned in, and the Doctor kissed her tenderly; Rose could tell he was only holding back because of their audience.

As they rose together from the ground, hearts swelling with happiness, she finally understood why weddings were known as the best day in a woman's life.

**((One of the more detailed chapters! Eleven said something about the 'quick version' of the Time Lord wedding ceremony in the alternate timeline with River Song, so I took that phrase plus the handfasting and it eventually developed into this…**

**Some dialogue borrowed from the deleted scene that inspired the TARDIAS.))**


	20. Second February

"Rose?"

Rolling over in bed to face her husband, slightly resentful that he had stirred her out of the space between wakefulness and dreaming, Rose sighed. "What is it, Doctor?" Even though she had called him that as long as she had known him, as did everyone, it always seemed just a little strange to her to call him that after a night in bed with him. Then again, his real name was too dangerous for her to say.

"What do you think about… maybe… kids?"

Rose laughed, but sobered quickly upon seeing the uncertain kind of smile he had given her: he hadn't been joking. "Doctor, we _just _got married. Last month. Not yet. Maybe not till I'm Mum's age." Jackie Tyler had recently turned forty-one, and would never stop talking about how she had decided she would start counting backward after year forty.

The Doctor gave a deep sigh of neither reproach nor relief. "I don't know. It's been such a long time since… but…" He trailed off, clearly deep in thought.

Rose laid her hand on his heartbeat comfortingly. "We can talk about it later. It's one o'clock in the morning, and we do have work tomorrow. I shouldn't have let you talk me into…" Rose drifted off exhaustedly before she finished, not having the energy to explain herself.

Sleep was almost within reach again when the Doctor murmured, "Just think, Rose Tyler. Our children would be beautiful. My intelligence and your compassion together? Oh, they'd be brilliant. And your looks! You'd be a great mother." He paused, registering Rose's faint noise of complaint. "Sorry," he whispered, brushing his lips against her cheek briefly. "I'll be quiet."

Rose's final thought before finally falling asleep was that if the Doctor wanted children, that was the one thing she might deny him.

**((Oof. She might like kids, but… they **_**did **_**just get married. She ain't ready yet.))**


	21. Second March

"Happy birthday, Dad!"

Rose offered a cake to her father, which the Doctor had generously baked earlier that morning—in another world. Chocolate, richer than the cocoa on this planet, composed the majority of the cake; a not-too-sweet syrup was mixed in to balance the flavor; the frosting was white and had little flakes in it, not of coconut but rather of a fruit with a similar consistency, which lent an almost spicy flavor to the confection.

"Looks delicious!" exclaimed Jackie, sitting on the sidelines. "Look, Tony," she added to the three-year-old on her lap, "we're going to have cake. What's it made of?" The question was asked anxiously, and Rose knew she was worried about gaining all the weight she'd lost after her pregnancy.

"It's fine, Mum," she smiled. "I'm sure eating this cake won't make you gain a hundred pounds!" Jackie didn't crack a smile, however, preferring to try and calculate the calories based on sight.

"Well, it _might_," shrugged the Doctor, "but only if you eat a hundred pounds of cake." He grinned at Rose, who smiled back, and as Pete blew out the candles enthusiastically, the Doctor took Rose aside and murmured seriously, "If any of them turn out to be allergic to _pastissos_, you and I are going to have to take them into the TARDIAS and go back to Tothom so we can administer the shot that cures them. It happens very suddenly—quite painful—they'll know it instantly—"

"Oh my God, Doctor, why didn't you _tell _me?" hissed Rose furiously, shooting a worried glance towards her parents and brother, all of whom now devoured cake as though it was the elixir of life. It wasn't only that that got Rose worried, though; they also had no idea of her adventures in the TARDIAS, and it was a well-known fact that her mum didn't exactly approve most of the time.

The Doctor sighed. "It's been awhile since I've worked with Tothomian cocoa—if I didn't sift through it properly, some allergens might have…" He trailed off, lost in thought. "Nah, I had to have done. Otherwise, it wouldn't have risen properly—no yeast—"

As the Tylers ate and Rose observed cautiously, just in case, the Doctor laughed. "I've never been any good at baking. Must have gotten it from Donna—but I never thought she was a great chef either…"

No ill effects plagued Pete, Jackie, or Tony, however, and Rose breathed a sigh of relief. "Rose, sweetheart, why don't you have some cake?" asked her mother, looking more content than she had in awhile. "You've barely eaten all day."

As a matter of fact, several days had passed in this single day, due to Rose's journeys in the TARDIAS with the Doctor, but of course Rose couldn't tell them that. Truth be told, the Doctor and Rose had agreed to wait until they noticed their house had an extra, secret room. Rose had discovered that the Doctor always left the brake on, which is what made the noise; as a result, when dematerializing from the Tyler mansion, they always released it, vanishing silently so as not to attract attention.

"Sure," smiled Rose, seating herself at the table and serving herself some cake. As soon as she swallowed the first rich, savory bite, however, Rose's eyes widened as pain shot through her abdomen, making her lightheaded. _Oh no. _Before she could say anything, however, she felt herself losing consciousness; the Doctor's arms closed around her, lifting her up with surprising ease and rearranging her into a more comfortable position as he sprinted upstairs and into the TARDIAS just before she finally passed out with the Doctor calling her name.

When she awakened again, she lay in her own bed, the rest of her family in the room as well. At first, she assumed it was the intolerable heat of too many covers that had awakened her, but then realized that there was an argument going on around her. Tony was quiet, which in itself was a miracle, but Jackie and Pete stood together, facing the Doctor with furious expressions through their daughter's sleep-blurred eyes.

"I have half a mind to throw you out of my house! Who do you think you are?" snapped her father.

"How dare you take our daughter on adventures through time and space _again_, without even telling us? It's our job as parents to keep her safe!" That was her mother, standing tall against the Doctor despite her short height.

"I've always brought her back in one piece, haven't I?" retorted the Doctor, a disbelieving scowl on his face. "Your daughter is twenty-three years old, and I am her _husband_—do you think you want her safe any more than me?"

A very intense silence fell, which Rose struggled to end, but she seemed to be paralyzed. The Doctor noticed her eyes open, though, and rushed to her side, clutching her hand and kissing her cheek. "Welcome back," he smiled. "You'll be back to normal within the hour; I've just brought you home after getting the shot. But, as you can see… not without some side effects…" He rolled his eyes towards Rose's parents, who clustered around Rose on the other side of her bed, still looking annoyed.

Trying to smile, Rose blinked in understanding. _I knew this battle would come._

**((Wow, that cake ended up kind of dramatic.))**


	22. Second April

Rose sighed. Moments from the far past didn't seem too interesting if she was forced to experience them standing outside the Temple of Delphi, aching from the several-hour-long wait.

It might not have been quite so boring if the Doctor had agreed to come with her, but he had ruffled his hair in a distinctly awkward way and muttered, "Better not. She'd still recognize me, and we had a thing some time ago—quite possibly in this universe, too—better safe than sorry." And he had refused to meet her eyes.

A resounding female voice echoed out of the doors, stirring Rose out of her reflections. "Enter." _Finally. _Advancing through the entrance, she knelt before the Oracle of Delphi, Sibyll, as she had been told was the custom.

As soon as Sibyll had laid her hand on Rose's head, she gasped. "So far from home, and yet so close," she whispered, closing her eyes, and Rose felt hers close as well. "Past and present and future blur together. There is no use in riddles for one so experienced as you." Heaving a deep sigh, almost of regret, Sibyll continued, "I shall begin with your past—that is, what has happened to you before."

"Go ahead," smiled Rose. _This is going to blow her little prophetess mind._

"Your life is convoluted, existent in many eras, yet always your own," murmured Sibyll. "Never anyone else's. And that man… I know that man." Rose's eyes blinked open with the Oracle's, but flickered shut again almost instantly. "The Doctor. Yet not my Doctor. With a different face, and from another place…" She trailed off before adding, "Your life changed to a different path the instant you met him, and every instant thereafter. You fell in love. Not only with the man himself, but with all the aspects of his existence. His origin in another world, and his two heartbeats, and his adoration for the stars… You sought him out when he left you behind. Your love burnt with the strength of a sun and saved the world—you wished him within you—"

"Yeah, um, stop right there," managed Rose, scarlet as her eyes opened with Sibyll's. "Could you, er, maybe go more towards the present? Please?" Even if this was a psychic woman, Rose deserved at least some privacy surrounding her innermost thoughts.

"But of course," smiled the Oracle, and shut their eyes again. "Now, you reside with him. Rich, but content to abandon your life and travel among the planets and stars in the sky again, in your little blue box. Still a blue box, though it can change if it wishes." Sibyll laughed quietly, though without opening her eyes. "You still love him, and he you, though you have a powerful rival for his affections, and have done since you agreed to marry the man."

"A rival?" exclaimed Rose. _Not Madame de Pompadour again? _"How so?"

"That I cannot say." There was a hint of a smirk in her voice, though she still did not let Rose open her eyes. Her hand still rested on her head, after all, and that seemed to be the source of her mysterious power.

"What kind of an Oracle are you, anyway?" snapped Rose, but did her best to calm herself down. "Sorry," she muttered by way of apology. "Continue."

"Your love of the Doctor drowns out almost all else," whispered Sibyll. "Most unusual. You love your family, but your brother is so young… more like a son than a sibling. And your father is not truly your father, and you and your mother have not seen eye-to-eye since you first disappeared through time and space."

Rose shifted uncomfortably. "Does she… still disagree?"

"Of course," murmured the Oracle. "But she loves you more than anyone else in the world. Either of her worlds. There is nothing you can possibly do that will change this."

Rose let out a sigh of relief. _I'd been worried about that._

"And what will happen to you later?" mused Sibyll. "I see three figures. Beautiful figures. Figures with time and space glowing in their hearts, and eighteen total lives. Golden energy flows through their veins." She gasped and doubled over, releasing Rose's head; Rose's eyes immediately flew open and she scooted backwards.

"_One is first lost on a duplicate earth,_

_One shall be rescued when dead before birth,_

_One will be murdered when first time is due,_

_And all will in some way be the death of you."_

Rose stared in horror at the Oracle before getting up and sprinting towards the exit, which took quite some effort, as she was practically petrified. She knew these figures had to be her children (_though three seems a bit much, really, _she thought with the small part of her brain not involved with the rest of the prophecy), but… death? Already? A prophecy about her death?

Bursting into the TARDIAS, Rose realized that tears had fallen, and struggled to wipe her eyes before seeing her husband. Her husband, however, emerged from beneath the central console and frowned when he saw her expression, racing over to her and hugging her to him. Pressed against the warmth of his body comfortingly (and wordlessly), Rose's frantic heart calmed down, and she buried her face in his single heartbeat, not crying but feeling herself shake.

"What's wrong?"

But Rose, remembering the Oracle's statement of a rival, just shook her head. "It's nothing," she sighed, braving a somewhat watery smile, and ran away to the bedroom, finding her diary and writing down the words with an unsteady hand.

**((Okay, well maybe that wasn't the most mature thing for Rose to do, but I wouldn't exactly feel like talking to much of anyone. Sorry for missing the daily posts yesterday! I'll try to make up for them today, but I'm not sure I can make all of them happen before midnight…))**


	23. Second May

"Sold for five hundred _pecunia_!" exclaimed the dirt-covered, unshaven man who held the ropes tying Rose's hands together behind her back. "Step forward, you," he snarled, shoving her forward and onto her knees. Giving him one single look she hoped consolidated all her fury into a death ray, and wishing she wasn't gagged so she could shout profanity at her captor, she saw her new owner take the rope from the man and was kicked once more before she was practically dragged into the back of a farm wagon.

"Mmph!" shrieked Rose through her gag, struggling against the ropes and doing her best to hurt the man who had purchased her. Apparently, she had been considered fairly valuable, since she had overheard the mutters of doubt involving her price. But that wasn't the point. _How am I going to get back to the TARDIAS?!_

Her husband had no idea where she was; they had just stopped to tamper with a few cords, and she had opted to go explore rather than stay in the TARDIAS with a mess of tangled wires. Granted, he had warned her, but she had felt a small wall driven between them that had been erected since the Oracle had told her she had a rival of some sort.

Rose knew she was being immature and reckless, further frustrating her, and remorse bubbled up within her; she'd have given anything to undo her decision. With any luck, though, he'd manage to find her. She hated being dependent upon the Doctor to save her, especially since she had blatantly ignored his warning to her, but in this situation, she couldn't imagine there being much of a choice but to wait.

"You're a lucky girl," smiled the gap-toothed man who had bought her, sitting on a cushion as though the farm cart would filthy his admittedly distinguished outfit, and untied the gag around Rose's mouth carefully, withdrawing his hand just before she tried to bite him, only to swing it around again and hit her cheek, hard. "Too aggressive," he smiled. "You'll have to have that beaten out of you. Now, tell me, do you know who I am?"

Rose muttered a few choice curses before responding, meeting his eyes furiously, "No. No idea. Who are you, pray tell?" Her voice trembled, but more with anger than fear, though she couldn't deny the spark of fright that had almost ignited by now.

"Emptori Mancipiorum, at your service," he smiled coldly. "As I had said, you're a lucky girl, though less so now that I can tell you the King will not be pleased with your attitude. You are to be the slave of the King."

"I'll tell you right now, that's not going to happen," spat Rose, literally, and struggled again, to no avail. "I'm not going to be anyone's slave! Even the King's! Who is he, then?" she shot at the vaguely amused Mancipiorum. "Some sadistic monarch?"

"Sadistic isn't exactly the word," mused Mancipiorum. "More like… concupiscent. Now, it's very important that you listen," he added, before Rose could say anything. "You have tonight to get used to your situation, which is not to be left. In the morning, you will be inspected by His Majesty, at which point he will determine if you are to be kept or… released."

"What do I do to get released?" Rose tried to keep the hope out of her voice, but a twisted smile played on Mancipiorum's lips as she spoke, and she knew she hadn't succeeded.

"Oh, you don't go _free_," he whispered conspiratorially. "No, you get evicted from the castle. You're given to one of the King's agents, such as… myself. To do with as we please, and then dispose of." He grinned at her, and Rose spat at his feet, disgusted. _I'd rather die! _But a sinking feeling filled her as she reflected that the way things looked now, maybe that would be what had to happen.

The rest of the journey passed in silence, primarily because Mancipiorum clearly thought it beneath him to speak to Rose anymore, and Rose would have refused to engage anyway. She was too busy planning escape after elaborate escape, all of which failed even in her head. _I guess I'm stuck, then._

When they finally arrived at the palace several hours later, Rose was sore from the bumpy ride, but in one piece. Growling under her breath as Mancipiorum took her leash of sorts, she reluctantly followed him to her quarters, which were surprisingly luxurious and located in the top of a tower, like some sort of fairy-tale princess. _I guess I'm in a position of some importance, if I'm… lucky…_

It was nightfall, and a beautiful night it was, but as Rose stared out the window, she couldn't find a single thing she liked about this planet. The human race had apparently devolved into slave-owning idiots, and by tomorrow, Rose was going to be used as a slave whose duties she didn't exactly want clarified. She could guess.

Quickly evaluating that the tower was too tall for a jump down to be even remotely safe, Rose discovered that her wooden door was locked from the outside, and she didn't have enough physical strength to knock it down or break it. She was stuck, and there was absolutely nothing to do but sit around like a damsel in distress and wait for the Doctor to rescue her.

She _hated _helplessness.

All that night, Rose didn't sleep. The insomnia wasn't only brought on by her brain frantically trying to focus on developing a plan, but also because of her remorse for distancing herself from her husband based on the Oracle's words. A smile touched the corners of her mouth as the sun broke over the hills in the distance come morning as she realized she meant _the TARDIAS._

Which made her feel even more stupid and worthless, of course. She would go along with whatever the King wanted save for her suspected duties, and buy the Doctor as much time as possible to repair the TARDIAS and rescue her. A newfound peace filled her as she sighed, rifling through the trunk provided her and discovering an elaborate dark green dress that looked a bit like something from medieval times, which she donned, making sure it looked as flattering as possible before washing her face

The door opened, making her jump, and she smoothed out her gown nervously as Mancipiorum entered, looking smug, and turned to bow to a man who was clearly the King. He didn't look bad, with his salt-and-pepper hair, and he certainly wasn't as old as Rose expected, but there was an air of conceit about him which Rose immediately detested.

"Your Majesty," she said, for lack of anything else to say, as she knelt uncertainly.

"I am King Basileus, and you may refer to me as such," he announced, looking down at Rose pompously. "And you are beautiful. What are you called?"

"Rose, King Basileus," responded Rose, despising him already.

"Well, Miss Rose, I have recently found myself in need of another concubine"—Rose, focusing both on not wincing at the word and not vomiting, missed the next few words—"please make yourself at home. You are to meet me in the throne room in one hour for the ceremony, don't forget." He waddled out of the room, followed by Mancipiorum, who shut the door with a nasty smile. While Rose had a hunch Basileus was not actually heavy, he was definitely weighed down by so many layers of fine cloth that he couldn't move properly. Rose smirked a little as she thought how that could come in handy for an escape; he would be much slower than her.

The next hour was mainly spent trying to do something about her hopelessly tangled hair in an effort to look her best. Her makeup was of course not applied, but nothing could be done about that now, so she quickly discarded the thought of grumbling about that and sat on her bed, waiting for the King.

When he entered again, Rose was ready. She stood before him with as brilliant a smile as she dared, knelt, and was promptly yanked up again and made to stand next to him, somewhat disoriented, and descend the stairs. Whatever kind of a ceremony this was, she was ready. She'd get herself out of this without the Doctor's help, if only to apologize for her disregard for his warning.

They arrived in a chapel of sorts, built into the castle, and found that it was set up much like a wedding. The King wrapped a cloth around her eyes, whispering that love was blind, and Rose grit her teeth in an effort not to curse at him. This was probably all a setup to prevent her running away.

Walking down the aisle quite like a traditional Earth English wedding, a hush fell over the crowd, and Rose couldn't tell if it was awe or disapproval. _Probably the latter. _Basileus knelt, and Rose knelt with him, rueing the blindfold and wondering where the Doctor was.

The entire ceremony, Rose was prompted to say nothing. Evidently, it was not a matter of her consent that finalized the arrangement. Just as whoever was orchestrating the event said, "King Basileus, you may now take your prize", a voice said calmly from the crowd:

"Hang on—are you honestly not going to ask her whether she agrees?"

Rose's heart leapt as she recognized the Doctor's voice, as jaunty as always. The crowd gasped, muttering insults about the newcomer, but Rose could practically feel the suspicious glance Basileus undoubtedly gave her; her hands were shaking with relief at the Doctor's arrival.

"Why should I?" he asked, voice ringing commandingly through the hall, and the crowd once again fell silent. "This is not her affair. This is my affair. She is a slave, bought and paid for!"

"Well, what about those gathered? Aren't you going to ask 'Does anybody object'?" asked the Doctor, voice much closer now. "Because if there's anyone that has ever objected to anything, that's me, and this is what. That's my wife you're claiming, now!"

"Marriage status is irrelevant," said the master of ceremonies, and Rose could hear the scowl on his face. "Any female in the kingdom is able to be chosen at His Majesty's leisure, or that of his agents—"

"Well, Rose isn't from this kingdom," said the Doctor, sounding altogether unconcerned, and Rose tried to telepathically tell him that her blindfold wasn't exactly helping matters much, but he apparently didn't get the message. "So you'll have to excuse me for taking her out from under you… as it were." Footsteps leapt up onto the platform where Rose knelt, and the Doctor whipped off her blindfold; Rose saw him looking vaguely disgusted. "Please tell me that hasn't happened yet," he muttered, barely audibly.

"I accept your challenge," boomed Basileus, beckoning a servant forward from the sidelines and receiving two swords, offering one to the Doctor. "For the girl?"

"For the girl," agreed the Doctor, taking the sword and looking distinctly wary—Rose couldn't blame him. The last time he had had a swordfight, he had lost. He had been the hand that hadn't fought well enough and had been cut off. _Please, any gods that might be out there, can you make sure the Doctor wins?_

The duel ranged throughout the hall, scattering the gathered crowd, and surprisingly enough, the Doctor held his own fairly well. However, Basileus was much quicker than Rose had expected, and—after about five excruciatingly suspenseful minutes of backing and forthing between the two without a drop of blood spilt—successfully landed a hit, inflicting a deep (but clean-looking) wound in his abdomen.

Rose gasped and automatically yelled abuse at the King, providing just the right amount of distraction for the Doctor to kick Basileus's sword out of his hand and hold the point to his undefended chest.

A few seconds of silence ticked by, Rose standing wide-eyed on the platform at the scene in the aisle below. The King and the Doctor glared at one another as the Doctor growled, "Now, you tell me, right now. Did you and Rose take to bed?"

The King refused to reply; the Doctor glanced up at Rose, who gave an infinitessimal shake of her head, but his expression didn't change. "Did you?" he insisted. "You tell me _right now_ or I swear—"

"Leave him," interrupted Rose, stepping down shakily from the platform. "He didn't—we didn't—"

"He would have," muttered the Doctor, and threw down his sword before punching the King in the side of the head and smiling faintly as he crumpled over the seats, immediately attended to by a few worried servants. _I've never seen him punch anyone before!_

"Oh, Doctor, I'm so sorry," whimpered Rose, and threw her arms around him. She didn't know what she was expecting—acceptance, denial, or perhaps a quiet push away from him—but whatever it was, it was not to be kissed full on the mouth, practically swept off her feet, and hugged so tightly she barely had any breath left in her precious body.

**((Okay, I think this one's a bit better, if a little rambly. :) ))**


	24. Second June

"So, Doctor, where are we?" asked Rose, smiling happily at her husband. She had apologized by now, of course, and showed her thanks by being his nurse for a couple weeks regarding his stab wound, since it was her fault it even happened. According to the Doctor, it still ached a little, but she had apparently 'fixed him up' and Rose wasn't going to question his judgment (which, she reflected, she probably should).

"You tell me," he responded, pointing at the dress he had told Rose to wear. "What era?"

"Nineteenth-century?" _Please don't tell me we're going to another party where crocodiles get you drunk and blame us for thievery._

"Not quite. Off by about… fourteen years, I should say. 1913! A village I've never been to before. Not as myself, anyway." He paused, looking at the central console almost sadly. "There's a dance tonight, and the Family won't be there, fortunately. But I want to see if she's doing all right. Assuming she exists here in this reality."

"She?" prompted Rose.

"Joan Redfern. A woman John Smith loved, in the other universe. As a human," he reminded Rose, who had opened her mouth to snap at her tactless husband. "I want to know if… if she's okay. I'm not going to run off with her!" he exclaimed, upon seeing Rose's expression—one of annoyance and dismay. She had thought this was going to be a simple sightseeing trip, after all. "Come on," he added, offering his arm, and Rose took it somewhat reluctantly.

They entered the village hall, giving a donation to the man at the gate (this Doctor traveled with money, likely due to Donna's influence), and entered the dance. It didn't look like the kind of thing Rose would enjoy, but perhaps that was because she knew the Doctor would be looking for another woman.

But, after scouting out the hall, the Doctor said (half-cheerfully, half-brokenly) that there was no Joan Redfern around, and Rose finally relaxed into the motions of the dances, even starting to have a good time. _No aliens, no murders, no mooning over some other… lady._

Dancing with the Doctor was certainly something special. The way he whirled her around, able somehow to teach her the dance while still dancing without making her look like the novice she was—the way his hand curved against her lower back—the way his chocolate-brown eyes glimmered in the light—Rose found herself smiling again, all thoughts of this Joan forgotten, living in the moment once again.

The final dance, a slow waltz, practically seduced Rose. "Slow, quick-quick, slow," murmured the Doctor in her ear to keep her tired feet on track, holding her close. Rose, opening her eyes for a moment from her blind bliss, glanced around to see that other people were gasping; their conduct was evidently considered scandalous for the time period. _Too close, I guess. _But she and the Doctor continued on, rotating slowly on the spot. Either he wasn't aware of the looks they were being given, or he didn't care.

"Sir," said a voice, distant in Rose's distracted ears. "We're going to have to ask you to embrace your… companion, elsewhere. This is a dance, not a…"

Rose lost track of what he said as she was swept off her feet, giggling. The Doctor gave the man a cheeky smile, met with indignation; holding Rose bridal style, he carried her out the door. Brushing his cheek tenderly, held all the way to the TARDIAS, Rose wondered how she ever could have doubted him.

**((Ah, fluff. Again.))**


	25. Fourth July

"Do we _have _to go to see Albert Einstein when I'm sick?" grumbled Rose, clutching her stomach miserably as the TARDIAS pitched and tossed in the Vortex. "I mean, really, I want bed rest and you say, no, how about we go see the greatest scientist in the universe instead. That's the same thing, right? Yeah, definitely—"

"Oh, come on, he wasn't the _greatest_," responded the Doctor. "That would be me, now that I've arrived. But if it'll make you feel better, I'll give you a scan—" He pressed a few buttons on the control, aimed the camera at Rose, adjusted his reading glasses, and promptly stared through the readings as though he had seen a ghost. "Blimey," he said, voice cracking. "That's… unexpected, to say the lea—"

"Doctor, what is it?" interrupted Rose worriedly.

The Doctor scratched his head. "I mean, I always wanted—but—haven't been in years—" He lapsed into muttering, then surfaced again with a sigh. "I know you wanted a bit more time just on our own…"

"Am I dying?" she demanded, abandoning her station and staggering weakly over to the screen he was watching in such a shocked way. _God, I hope I'm not dying. _But what she found was hardly better in her eyes. At least, right now it was…

"Pregnant?" she exploded. "What do you _mean_, I'm pregnant?"

**((Short chapter, but there you are…))**


	26. Fourth January

Rose, panicking, literally ran into the Doctor on her way to his room, trying to sort out her shifting memories. There was something she hadn't remembered until just now. Something important. _That voice. His voice. Why didn't I realize it sooner?_

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what's wrong?" The Doctor laid his hands on her shoulders and leaned his forehead against hers in a frantic, comforting motion, laying a hand on Rose's swollen belly. "Calm down," he murmured. "You're still alive, and I'm still alive, and we've been home for a few months now—everything's stable and shining—"

"But, Doctor," panted Rose, tears streaming down her face. "I just remembered something—it's not okay, it isn't, it was _your voice_—why didn't I realize it sooner?" she moaned.

"Shh, shh," hushed the Doctor, guiding her tenderly to their bed and sitting them both down. "Now, tell me what's going on." His voice, low and soothing, urged her to stop the tears. But how could she tell him what was wrong when she herself wasn't entirely sure? It had been so long ago, after all.

"When I was nineteen," she said tremblingly, "I was on my way to a New Year's party. And… and my mum and I split up, and I saw… you." She blinked. "You. Same long coat, same suit, if a little torn up. The only reason I realized you were there was… you were in pain."

The Doctor's eyes widened, and Rose bowed her head as more tears came. "You were leaning against the wall, holding your stomach. I didn't know at the time. I asked if you'd had too much to drink…" Trailing off, Rose buried her face in the Doctor's shoulder, troubled. "But you looked at me with so much love. You told me I'd have a great year. And that was the year I met you, Doctor, one regeneration ago." Sobbing violently, and trying to keep herself under control, Rose extricated herself from the Doctor's arms and did her level best to prevent herself from wailing. "Doctor, what does it mean?"

"Oh, Rose," murmured the Doctor after a long pause just as pregnant as Rose, "Rose Tyler, I don't remember doing that. And that means the Time Lord version of myself must have. There's only one thing that could mean." He clutched Rose to him fiercely. "I'm dead. Gone. Regenerated. I'm the only part of me that's left." He smiled a watery smile. "But, Rose, I made my peace with you."

"Yeah," said Rose, with a shuddering sigh. "You did."

There was a long silence, during which Rose managed somehow to stop crying, and kissed the Doctor clumsily, almost as an effort to make sure he was still corporeal. To discuss the death of the man she loved with her husband, both of whom were the same person, was (to say the least) unusual, and very exhausting.

The Doctor laid his hands on her belly. "Two heartbeats," he laughed. "You have two hearts, now, instead of me. We're going to have a beautiful baby. A daughter," he added, after a pause, and the two shared a shaky smile. "Rose, he's not the same man as me anymore. He's got a new life ahead of him, with new companions. You are my one and only. Don't make things harder for us both by mourning him."

And Rose, feeling her husband's heartbeat, bowed her head in reluctant agreement.

**((Oof. That was kind of difficult to write. I hate remembering that scene; it's painful.))**


	27. Sixth July

"Rose! Rose! What do you need? Are you hurt? Is it—is it happening? No! It can't be!" The Doctor's panicky voice filled Rose's half-delirious ears as she doubled over, recognizing the symptoms of birth.

After the successful delivery of Rose's first child, one would have thought her body would know what to do the second time, but something was… _wrong_. Clutching her abdomen as hot knives seemingly stabbed at her, Rose grit her teeth as the TARDIAS finally materialized at home.

Rose was practically losing consciousness as the Doctor escorted her into their room; he helped her gently onto the bed (practically tearing off her pants in the process) before shutting the door and shouting at the top of his voice, "The baby's coming!" Rose winced, shuddering as powerful spasms racked her body. It was much worse this time than last time; a particularly stressful incident yesterday—involving a Sontaran, lots of running, and a paintball gun—had hit her hard, literally. Even though she was due within the month anyway, was it still possible to miscarry? _We should never have left. Not while I was pregnant._

Clenching her teeth and trying not to cry, Rose did her best to concentrate her anguish into labor, but something was horribly wrong, and she knew it. Her child wasn't due for almost another month, after all. _Did I absorb some psychic abilities from the Doctor?_ As though thinking his name summoned him to her side, her husband burst through the door (closely followed by her mother, who shooed back Pete Tyler and six-year-old, curious Tony) and sat next to her.

Through the fog, Rose knew—in that bodily way minds can't explain—that it was stillborn. Their son. Over eight months pregnant, and this was all she had to show for it? A dead child? _But the Oracle said this would happen, _she thought, heart sinking as she fought to prepare for delivering her second baby. The Doctor's hand trembled, clutching her own desperately; she could tell he knew it was hopeless, too.

But suddenly, a strange sensation enveloped her, and she let out a long, unbroken shriek. If she had ever thought this process couldn't get any more painful, she was terribly wrong. Something was going on inside her, and she couldn't bear it. There were no thoughts, no words that could describe the sensation, save a burning kind of energy that flowed into her. The Doctor straightened in his seat; dubious recognition flashed upon his face, but he didn't snatch his hand away from her. The gears in his head were turning, but he said nothing. _What's happening, Doctor? _she wanted to say, but couldn't find the air.

And then, abruptly, everything shifted back to normal. More than normal. Better. The sensation vanished as quickly as it had started, a calm coolness permeating every cell in her body. Nothing was wrong anymore, nothing at all, and Rose wasn't about to ask why. She was ready to meet her son.

**((Dun dun dun! Kind of. Bet you can guess what happened.**

**FallingStar95, this was not the more adorable of the scenes I promised. You'll have to wait a little while before that one! :) ))**


End file.
